The Evil Overlord List
by boomvroomshroom
Summary: Villains always make the same dumb mistakes. Luckily, Tom Riddle happens to have a rather dangerously genre-savvy friend in his head to make sure that he does this "conquering the world" business the RIGHT way. It's about time the bad guys won for once.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

- Tom is Tom Riddle. "This is speaking," and _this is him thinking and conversing with Jerry._

- Jerry is the genre-savvy alter ego. He cannot communicate with the outside word. He can only _**communicate with Tom, like this. **_Jerry is an OC, I guess. He is also the ultimate cheat code to evil overlords everywhere.

* * *

><p>*PILOT PASSAGE*<p>

**_Really? REALLY?_**

_What?_

**_Do you realize how absolutely terrible of an idea branding all your followers on the arms is? And that - what type of design is that? Snakes and skulls? So tacky. You guys look more like a biker gang with matching tattoos than an actual conspiracy._**

_Well, how else am I supposed to distinguish between my side and theirs?_

**_Oh, I don't know...how about designing a magical seal or whatever that only those who possess it can see? Or, better yet, just put it in a place not generally displayed to the public!_**

_...Wow! That actually makes sense! _

**_Yes. That DOES make a lot of sense. And on that note, maybe you should throw away the whole "dark army" idea, too._**

_Why?_

**_Gee. Someone trying to take over the world by starting a war. What a Slytherin thing to do._**

_How else would you take over the world?_

**_Puppet the governments of the countries that matter, and buy out the governments of the ones that don't. But you better hurry. World War I just ended and there's a slew of war-torn, weak, newly created little states that haven't had a history of self-rule for hundreds of years._**

_That sounds really smart! That way, I won't have to deal with a bunch of stupid minions groveling at my feet, either - the already set bureaucracy will take care of that for me, and I'll only have to deal with my puppets directly. Also, if anything goes wrong, they'll revolt against the puppets, and not me! I can't believe I didn't think of that before. But how would I get around to doing all that?_

**_You could start a Confundus Chain._**

_A what? _

**_You know...Confund someone to confund someone to confund someone else to confund someone who really matters. _**

_That's amazing. And then I can also make them Obliviate themselves afterwards so they can't trace it back to me. We're a genius. Thanks, alter ego. _

**_And by the way, Horcruxes aren't a good idea._**

_Why not?_

**_I don't know about you, but insanity is never useful to someone who's about to conquer the world. It's not easy to make smart decisions or try to predict your enemies' movements when you can't even take care of yourself._**

_That's absolutely brilliant! I should totally try to find a different, less costly way to engineer my own immortality, such as uploading my mind to a computer or something._

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

* * *

><p>THE JOYS OF HAVING A GENRE-SAVVY VOICE IN YOUR HEAD<p>

OR:

HOW TO BE A VILLAIN WHO IS ACTUALLY SMART FOR ONCE

* * *

><p><em>Prologue<em>

Getting hit by a truck is _not _a fun experience.

Being reborn with all your memories inside a baby's body is even less fun.

Getting called "Tommy Riddle" by a woman looking like she was from the 1920s, on the other hand…

Heh heh.

There were two things I could do at this point.

One was be the moral compass that Tom Riddle never got and make the world all sunshine and sparkles and rainbows.

Or two…

_Hell yeah. Let's eff up this place._

* * *

><p><em>Tom Riddle, age 11<em>

_"#29. I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion."_

Tom didn't know how long Jerry had been inside his head, or if Jerry was even Jerry's real name.

**_Depends on what you consider a "real name." It wasn't the name my parents chose for me when I was born, but it's the name I chose for myself now that there's no pesky government papers to limit what I can put as an alias._**

_What, Jerry?_

**_"Tom and Jerry" has a rather nice ring to it, doesn't it?_**

_If you say so._

All he knew was that there never had been a single moment Jerry _hadn't _been there for him. Of course, no one really knew Jerry was there, because by the time his language skills had developed enough for Tom to actually tell other people about Jerry's existence, his intelligence had also shot to the point where he realized that such actions would probably get him shipped off to the madhouse.

According to Jerry, he was actually from 2015, nearly a hundred years into the future, and got killed when a truck hit him. He seemed to have this idea that Tom had the capability to conquer the world, as long as he didn't do anything stupid. Which was fine with him. Tom decided that the idea of becoming an evil overlord was rather fun, and with his natural intellect and Jerry's help, it was very possible.

Not that he knew how much of his intelligence was actually _his _and how much was Jerry's. He remembered from infancy these random undecipherable noises in his head that eventually, along with his development, formed into actually understandable language. Jerry was an adult; had always been an adult. A rather educated one, too, given the complexity of his thoughts. Tom didn't quite know what to think of Jerry. Maybe he really _was _crazy, and this was a split personality. Although, a highly convenient one. There were certain benefits that came with having the personality of a grown man inside your head, and having an unusually expanded vocabulary and an understanding of integral calculus before you could walk was one of them.

There were a few drawbacks. For one, Tom was rather unwilling to socialize with other children his age, simply because he was so far ahead of them that Jerry was just such better company. And the more time he spent in Jerry's company, the more mentally distanced he became from his peers. In fact, he was so used to conversing inside his head with Jerry that in the first few years of his life he forgot to speak out loud in order to demand things from the matrons. He eventually got better as he became used to Jerry's presence, and the constant reminders of **_Speak out loud; they're not in your head like I am_**.

There was also the slight chance that this was one of those crazy science fiction novels where the person's mind was eventually taken over by the split personality. So far, however, Jerry was little more than a voice of reason and a helpful companion. Tom didn't really think that Jerry would be stupid enough to try to pull off anything like that. Jerry, if anything, was a rational being, and seeing as he felt the same things as Tom, like hunger or pain, using Tom's body to commit his own crimes was really not a good idea. Also, if Jerry ended up getting Tom killed, his own future would probably be rather iffy, too – not that Jerry hadn't survived death already.

_Speaking of death…do you think this is what happens to all dead people?_

**_If so, then there should be more people with voices in their heads, _**Jerry reasoned, **_but since you're the only kid I know with the consciousness of a mature adult, I don't think so. Who knows. Maybe you'll be able to figure it out in the future._**

_I don't intend to die, though._

**_Just make sure that whatever you sacrifice for immortality doesn't drive you insane or make you rely on regular rituals involving the blood of virgins._**

_What's a virgin? Are you talking about that lady that they always make us read about? Because I don't think you can get blood from someone who's been dead and decomposed for nearly two thousand years…_

**_Never mind. You'll find out when you're older._**

_…How much older?_

**_When you no longer think "girls are icky."_**

_I've never been puerile enough to think that. All children are equally disgusting. Except me, of course. _Tom glared at the children jumping about on the playground from his bedroom window, completely oblivious to his internal conversation.

**_Now, be nice._**

_You mean "don't let them know exactly how much you hate them."_

**_Fine. PRETEND to be nice. Except to the obvious bullies. If you absolutely have to take out your anger on someone then use some scapegoat whom you can easily justify fighting back against. That way you won't draw any suspicions of psychotic tendencies until after you've gained too much power for anyone to fight back._**

_Yeah, yeah, no strangling bunnies, even if their owners are just about the most annoying people in the world. I understand._

**_And no torturing people without mind-wiping them afterwards._**

_Speaking of mind-wiping, any help on that? Because I can make things float, glow, break, burn, grow, shrink, and change color, and I can summon things to me, and I can talk to snakes, but I can't make people forget things for some reason. Well, I can, but they forget the wrong things, and act weird for days, and that really isn't...good._

**_Sorry. Haven't got a clue. This "magic" business is all your doing._**

_Hmph._

Yes, Jerry was a very interesting entity, and a very helpful one. Except when it came to assisting Tom in controlling his own odd powers. Jerry had nothing to do with that, except suggesting ways on how to maximize use of his rather limited repertoire. So far, he had gained the simpering loyalty of most of the orphanage children, as well as the rest of his schoolmates, in that he always seemed to have snacks stashed away. No one really questioned it, since "that really nice Tom kid" was known to never eat sweets himself but be completely willing to share them with others. They all assumed that every time he got something he just sort of put it away, and then took it out if someone asked.

In reality, Tom (and Jerry) were just using magic to duplicate the same pieces of candy that had been passed out that one Christmas from years ago. That it hadn't gone bad yet showed just how much artificial sugar was in that thing. Tom knew he wasn't going to touch it anytime soon.

Tom mulled over this bit of information. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a knock on his door. It was probably Mrs. Cole. Even though he hated her, he tried to kiss up to her the most, because she was a predictable constant in his life, and the trouble of having to get used to dealing with a new matron was more than the satisfaction he would receive from offing her. The same with the teachers at school, and pretty much any adult he ran into. Anyway, keeping his room clean and giving an air of false politeness was not that much trouble compared to the benefits he reaped from being so far above reproach that he'd never be considered a suspect in anything, even if he was the only one who could have possibly done it.

Because "sweet little Tom" would _never _do anything wrong.

Ever.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole said, her words slurring slightly. Lovely. She was drunk again. Thank goodness she wasn't the type of person who became violent and abusive when drunk (she usually just locked herself in her office when she decided to bring out the gin), but she tended to behave exceptionally stupidly, like all drunk people, if she ever did decide to reveal herself to the public. "Tom. I. Er. You've got a visitor. This is Mister Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it."

**_Just play nice and don't make direct eye contact._**

Tom had had plenty of experience in playing nice. But…_Why not direct eye contact? Isn't that generally considered rude in Western culture?_

**_Yeah, well, this guy reads minds, and I'm not sure what he'd do if he realized you had some alter ego trying to help you conquer the world. Anyway, pretend you're shy with strangers. That's how all the "nice" kids behave._**

_What are you talking about? Is he from an asylum? _He eyed the man, whose long hair and beard would have given him a rather Merlin-esque look had they been white and not reddish-brown in color. The rest, though, like the long, plum-colored robes (who even _wore _that anymore?) and weird hat, was more than enough to convince Tom that this was not really a normal situation.

**_They usually send the orderlies, not the patients, _**Jerry snarked. **_You haven't done anything to make Mrs. Cole suspicious of you, have you?_**

_I've been good, I swear! _Tom replied as innocently as possible.

Jerry snickered.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, holding out a hand.

_Are you SURE he's not from the asylum? _Tom asked.

It wasn't in Tom's nature to be vulnerable or unsure of himself, but he was a good actor, if anything. He hated being polite, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't know how. His manners, when called for, could outstrip those of all the other orphan scum stuck in this place.

"Um, I guess I'm okay," Tom said, looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Then he looked up, pretending to realize that the odd man was holding out a hand, and hastily whispered, "Sorry," before shaking it.

**_He's a wizard, just like you, Tom._**

_What…_

**_He can make things float and explode, too._**

_You're kidding me. He's a wizard? A _wizard_?_

**_For someone who can use his mind to defy the laws of physics you seem rather close-minded to the fact that there might be other people out there who can do the same thing…_**

_Oh, shut up._

**_Tsk, tsk. And I thought you were the sweetest little boy ever - _**

_Spare me that bullshit, will you?_

**_Where'd you learn that language?_**

_From YOU._

**_Oh._**

"No need," the man said. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Tom asked. "Of what?"

"I am a Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said, drawing a stamped envelope from his robe pocket. "I have come to offer you a place at this school – if you would like to come, that is."

Tom took the letter and read it over. _Hogwarts? Witchcraft and Wizardry? Who does he think he is? _Tom ranted. _It's the asylum; I knew it!_

**_Calm down,_** Jerry drawled. **_Just play dumb. It's not the goddamned asylum, okay? Whatever you do, don't lose your temper in front of him._**

_It's a bit hard not to; he's an absolute moron._

**_A moron who can read minds and happens to be the most powerful wizard on the continent of Europe, so please, for the love of Pete, if there's one person in the world you shouldn't reveal your true nature to, it's this guy._**

_How do you even know all this stuff?_

**_Like I told you, I'm from 2015. _**

_Are you sure this won't create some weird paradox?_

**_…Meh. _**

_Seriously, though. How do you know you're right?_

**_Have I ever been wrong?_**

"…Witchcraft…and Wizardry?" Tom asked, feigning incredulity. "Isn't witchcraft a bad thing, though? I'm not sure about this."

"Witchcraft is just a term for magic users. It is the choices you make that define good or evil," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "But never mind that. You and I are different, Tom. Have odd things ever happened to you when you were feeling strong emotions? Things that couldn't be explained normally?"

Tom continued fiddling with his shirt, shooting a look at Professor Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, making sure to avoid the other man's face. "I…are you saying that's supposed to be magic?"

"That is correct."

"Um…sir, can you show me?"

**_Okay, pray he doesn't set your wardrobe on fire…_**

_Why?_

**_Because that would mean he saw through us. Tom, you haven't stolen anything lately, have you?_**

_How could I, with you breathing down my neck, literally, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week?_

**_Hey, step number one to being an Evil Overlord is not letting anyone know that you're an Evil Overlord._**

But Professor Dumbledore did little more than draw a long, pointed stick (**_That would be a magic wand, Tom_**) (_I'm inexperienced, not a moron, you moron_) and levitate a few books around in the air. Tom tried his best to look amazed, which was harder than it sounded, because after practicing levitating things for so long the novelty effect had worn off. Not so much, however, when Mr. Merlin changed the flying books into cuckoo clocks and back again.

"These are some of the things you'll learn at Hogwarts, along others, which I promise you are much more practical than floating books around and making cuckoo clocks. But never mind that," and Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled – "What can _you_ do?"

**_You are the epitome of angelic innocence. Repeat: You are the epitome of angelic innocence._**

"Umm…well…sometimes, I only have a few pieces of candy, and a lot of people see me, and I don't want to just give a few people things because that might make the others feel left out," Tom tried, "except when I look down again, there were a lot more than there were before. And at first I thought I was just counting wrong, but then it happened again and again, like in those fairy tales with the pot of gold that never runs out."

"Go on," Professor Dumbledore encouraged.

"And another time we were supposed to clean our rooms for the government inspectors, and even though my room is normally clean I had some things lying around that day. And then all of a sudden they went back to their spots." Tom settled back and gave a proud little smile, all the while completely dying on the inside from the disgusting bitter aftertaste of the thickly laid on artificial sugar. "I figured out how to do that one again, too. So now everything I have is always clean. I'd help my friends clean up, too, but I was afraid of hurting their feelings, because I _know _they'd ask me how, and I wouldn't be able to tell them, and then they'd get mad because they thought I was hiding something and wasn't sharing…"

Professor Dumbledore held up a hand, and Tom paused, before ducking his head sheepishly again. "Sorry…I just get a little excited sometimes…"

**_And the title of Drama Queen of the Year goes to…_**

_Shut your face, or I swear to god I'll…_

**_I thought you were atheist._**

"That's quite all right," Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Magic _is _a very exciting thing. Trust me, there have been students with much more…shall I say, _exuberant _reactions than yours, and they grew up with magic around them their entire lives."

"You mean there's more?" Tom said, interjecting with as much hope as he could. Professor Dumbledore nodded, and Tom's face lit up, before falling yet again. "I…they must know a lot of magic already, don't they? I'll be _so _behind. Are there any special rules? Because I've never heard of this stuff until today…I bet I'll be the worst in the class…"

**_*sniff* There goes little Tommy, off to conquer the world with his impenetrable charm..._**

_You are the most infuriating person I've ever talked to._

**_Aren't we the same person?_**

_Hypocrite. Just a few moments before we were separate entities and you were someone real from the future who died._

**_Funny. You never really believed me before._**

They could argue for _years _over this. In fact, Tom still knew nothing about Jerry, except that he was pretty much a permanent residence in his head. Tom was sure that, had Jerry shown up, say, now, instead of having been present from his very birth, he would have been much less trusting. As it was, though, despite Jerry's rather murky background story (for all he knew, Jerry really _was _an alter ego with a very overexaggerated sense of imagination, or, better yet, an extension of his own consciousness that allowed his genius to spill over into somewhere safe), Tom trusted Jerry. After all, Jerry hadn't failed him…_yet_.

"Not to worry," Professor Dumbledore said again. "It's a common rule that everyone receives a wand and starts school at the same time. Perhaps students with magical parents might know the names of certain spells, but they will have no way to practice it. You won't be the only one coming from Muggle – that's our term for non-magical people – backgrounds, and anyway, statistics show that students of non-magical heritage perform just about as well as their peers with magical families."

"So this…heritage…_doesn't _determine how good you are?" Tom asked. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"It is actually true. There are teachers at Hogwarts who are Muggle-born themselves."

"And when I finish school…what happens?"

"Generally you would have become integrated into Wizarding society by then, and found a job in our world by then. When I take you to Diagon Alley – the Wizard London – you will receive a more practical view of everything, and I can explain as we go by. "

"So, a sort of secret world, then? And no one knows about it, except for the people with magic?"

"Yes."

"What if I end up not liking it? Can I go back to the, er, Muggle world then?" Tom asked.

**_Fat chance, _**Jerry snorted. **_You're loving the idea of this magic thing already._**

_I'm just playing it safe! You said "be nice." This is how a shy, nervous kid who's never heard of magic before is supposed to act!_

**_I know. And damn, are you good._**

_Thank you._

**_You're welcome. Seriously._**

"It is possible, but very rare," said Professor Dumbledore. "There are, of course, restrictions that we would have to place in order to preserve our secret. For example, you cannot use your magic against others, obviously, but especially Muggles because they have no magic of their own _and _result in a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy. Of course, there are exceptions, such as if you are defending yourself, or saving a life, but it still leads to a lot of legal issues."

"How do they catch those people?" Tom asked. "I mean, if I meet a stronger wizard, say, and I don't know that much magic yet…"

"The Ministry of Magic, our government, keeps tabs on the magic being performed."

"Like, spying?" Tom asked, not having to fake his rather disturbed look..

"Not quite. You have to understand, magic is just energy. When magic is performed, it can be detected, just like, say, a radio signal, I believe? In any event, there are ways of recording and evaluating these situations. There are law records, if you want to spend time looking that up."

**_One thing he's not telling you: they can only tell that magic has been cast, and not who did it. Pretty stupid, I know. _**

_Wait – so if another wizard did magic inside this orphanage…_

**_They'd think it was you, because this is "your" zone. _**

_What? That's stupid!_

**_Well, that means if you go to someone else's house and did magic…they also can't catch you. Or, if you just move out of your own zone into someone else's zone, I guess. _**

"Oh, okay! Thank you, sir!" Tom gushed.

_Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick._

**_No kidding._**

"Well, if that's all," Dumbledore said kindly, "tomorrow I will be returning to take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies."

"You're coming with me?" Tom blurted out.

**_Accept his help! You're just an average kid with no evil aspirations in you whatsoever!_** Jerry snapped.

"Sorry," Tom added hastily. "It's just – it's just – well, I've done things alone most of the time before, so, you know. The adults here don't have a lot of time because there's so many of us, so I wasn't really expecting you to come back. But if you can come with me, that would be great."

Jerry was laughing his head off.

"That is understandable," said Professor Dumbledore.

"One last question," Tom said. "Is this really real? Or am I just dreaming?"

"That would be a very deep philosophical question that people have been trying to answer for millenia," Dumbledore said. "But, for our purposes right now – yes, this is real." With that, he tipped his eccentricly patterned hat, and disappeared out the door.

Tom watched him leave, and then let out a breath that he hadn't known he had been holding.

_Well. That was...interesting._

**_Oh, you haven't even seen the start of it yet._**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: By the way, I am currently looking for a cover for my story. I'd like something original, but I don't know how to draw…So if someone is willing to make something for me I will greatly appreciate it.

If multiple people respond, I can unfortunately only pick one – but I'll still link back to the rest on my profile.

So, if you're interested, just pop a review or whatever. Merci danke por flavor! (That means Gracias in Polish. I think.)

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><p><em>"#<em>_74. I will not let anyone know my plans for being an Evil Overlord, nor will I let anyone know that I have plans in the first place."_

Professor Dumbledore had indeed returned the following day to take Tom to Diagon Alley to assist him in shopping for school supplies. Apparently, Wizarding London was located behind a tiny, rather inconspicuous public house named the Leaky Cauldron, which _would _have been a brilliant idea if it hadn't been for the name. Then again, most people didn't believe in magic anyway, so maybe he'd let that one whim slide.

"Welcome," Professor Dumbledore said grandly, "to Diagon Alley."

"Whoa," Tom breathed, partly out of awe, but mostly out of exaggerated interest. Admittedly, the fact that a place like this could remain completely hidden was quite impressive; however, _what _exactly was hidden remained to be assessed.

_You know, apart from the whole "moving brick wall" and "mysterious shopping center inside pocket of universe" thing, this isn't _that _amazing. I mean, it's just like any other shopping center. Except smaller, and more medieval, and…magic._

_**Wow. Ungrateful.**_

_You mean realistic. _

_**You are such a little cynic.**_

_I was born with the voice of a grown man inside my head. Of course I would be a cynic._

Tom, naturally, had been extremely put off by the fact that there was a very eccentric old man following him around all the time (it was just _shopping_; it wasn't as if they were going to ship him off to war or something, and he _certainly _didn't need anyone to hold his hand, even in this new place!), but at the very least Jerry had been correct in that Professor Dumbledore commanded a great deal of respect. Nearly everyone seemed to know him – though Tom eventually realized that _of course they'd know him; Hogwarts is the only damn school in Magical Britain and he teaches one of the "core" subjects!_

_**Well, of course. **_

_Let me guess – it's the same in all the other magical countries?_

_**As far as I'm aware of. Maybe the more highly populated ones have multiple academies, but there's still going to be very few.**_

_This conquering the world business might be more complicated than originally estimated, if we live in a society where nearly everyone knows each other. Unless I become a teacher, too. Then I can influence entire generations of people without ever losing anyone's trust. The teachers here seem to have a very unrealistic information monopoly.  
><em>

_**Well, of course. Moriarty was a professor, too. His only mistake was leaving a paper trail for Sherlock Holmes to meddle in.**_

_To be honest, these wizards don't seem too bright, _Tom thought, frowning at a few old-fashioned quills in Flourish and Blotts. _It's nineteen thirty-seven and they're still acting like they're in the Middle Ages. Slightly cleaner, but still. The Middle Ages. If I was a wizard, I'd mass produce stuff like we mass produced those Christmas candies, and then overload the Muggle market with them and screw everyone over. And I'll never go out of business no matter how low the price drops because magic doesn't cost me anything to use._

_**Now that's what I call economics on steroids.**_

_Steroids?_

_**Never mind. Futuristic reference.**_

_Sometimes I wonder if you're making all this stuff up._

"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "I know we have a limited amount of money, but I was wondering if I could get a few more books. You know, on wizards' laws and customs, so I don't accidentally do something wrong or offend people. I'm fine with using cheaper Muggle things instead of those quills; honestly."

"I'm afraid quills are just another Wizard tradition," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling. "But not to worry. A few extra books does not hurt my wallet much. Consider this a gift."

"Oh, no, I couldn't, Professor," Tom said meekly.

"There is no harm in helping another person, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore.

"It's not that…it's just…I don't have anything to give you in return…"

"Gratitude is more than enough."

"Then…er…thank you so very much, Professor." Tom offered him an awkward grin.

"Oh, you are quite welcome, Tom."

"I really do want to give you something in return. It's only polite," Tom pushed. "I haven't got much money, but…"

"Oh, there's really no need for that, Tom."

_**Offer to get him thick woolly socks for Christmas.**_

_What?_

_**Just trust me.**_

"…I'll get you some thick woolly socks for Christmas or something," Tom mumbled.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That is very kind of you, Tom. I've always wanted thick, woolly socks. People always insist on giving me books simply because I have a career in academia. It's very frustrating."

"I'm sure it is," Tom replied, smiling awkwardly again.

Internally, however, his state of mind was a completely different story.

_How did you know that? _he demanded.

_**I told you; I'm from the future, **_Jerry yawned. _**I know these things.**_

_What about MY future?_

_**I can't tell you that. It would cause a paradox.**_

_Oh for the love of…You don't seem too concerned about telling me about other peoples' futures!_

_**Whatever. Just pay attention.**_

They continued walking through the shops, buying textbooks, robes, and the like. Some of them were quite fascinating, and others basically a weird wizard version of the same Muggle things. Tom wondered which one had come first. Probably the wizards had adapted from the Muggle way of doing things via a bunch of rather inventive and opportunistic Muggle-borns, because Tom couldn't think of doing it backwards. Besides, it wasn't as if there were Muggles here to copy the wizards in reverse.

Along the way, Professor Dumbledore continued to point out important landmarks, such as what the Leaky Cauldron looked like from the back of Diagon Alley, certain stores, and Gringotts, the wizarding bank, which also happened to be run by goblins.

_And everyone keeps their money here? _Tom asked.

_**Yep.**_

_But surely they've got to have multiple branches, right?_

_**Nope.**_

_But what if the bank fails, and everyone loses all their money?..._

_**One: the Wizarding World still operates on the gold standard. Two: there are no standard protection laws, meaning if you fail to repay a loan to the goblins, they will find a way to get every cent of it back from you somehow, including slave labor – you don't get to declare any bankruptcy. Even if you die and have no heirs, the goblins will repossess everything you ever held dear and outprice the hell out of it. Three: the economic situation is much simpler than that of the Muggle world. No stock market, or loans, or buying on margin, or any of that overspeculation business that led to the Great Depression.**_

_I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It sounds really boring to me. What are my options in this place, anyway? It sounds very limited._

_**Well, you could become a teacher. Or a shopkeeper. Or a government worker. Or you could pull some strings to marry into a rich family somehow and never have to work again. **_

_**...And that's about it. Yeah.**_

_And a Dark Lord?_

_**You can't exactly broadcast something like that to the world.**_

…_Teacher it is, then._

_**I thought so.**_

…_Wizards are stupid._

_**Which we can take advantage of. Ask him what the Muggle-Wizard exchange rate is.**_

"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "Is it possible to convert Muggle money to this Wizard money? Or do all the Muggle-born kids like me, even ones with family of their own, have to use the charity system?..."

"There is an exchange rate, yes. I am not quite sure what it is, though. I know it has something to do with the current price of gold in the Muggle world, whatever it is in each of the different currencies in every country. Galleons are a secret alloy made by the goblins, so it cannot be melted down, and constantly adjust in quality to keep the market stable. The Goblin Nation has ways of keeping these tabs."

_**Damn. And here I thought we could create an infinite loop of gold-to-paper money exchange. I wonder if the goblins know what German Marks are really worth right now…?**_

_Isn't it getting a little better, though? Because of Hitler and whatnot?_

_**Yeah, well, the numbers still fluctuate. It should take a little while for the goblins to adjust, at least. And if it doesn't, we can always make a fortune introducing pencils. **_

_Pencils._

_**Yes. Magical quills that allow you to correct mistakes and don't smudge.**_

_And then we take over the world with this money._

_**Obviously. But first we have to create a secret identity and a power base. An eleven-year-old, even in disguise, would look very suspicious, waltzing into this tiny society and suddenly making a boatload of money.**_

_I wonder why we have to buy all this stuff, _Tom mused, looking at his bags of robes. _They're wizards. Can't they just make this stuff themselves?_

_**Conjuring is a pretty difficult art. I think that there's just very few people who can actually make a robe or whatnot appear out of thin air, and there's probably more complicated steps in maintaining it. Dumbledore is probably one of those people who don't have to spend any money on clothes, though. **_

_How do you know? Other than "he's super powerful"?_

_**Look at what he's **_**wearing**_**. You think people can sell stuff like that normally and still turn a profit? **_

_Well…why did we have to buy so many robes, anyway? I can duplicate candy. Duplicating robes shouldn't be _that _big of a deal, right? We could have just bought one good one!..._

_**I repeat: Wizards are morons.**_

"This is the last stop," Professor Dumbledore said, "and it is one I think you will like very much, Tom."

"I think so, too, sir," Tom murmured respectfully. The store they had stopped in front of was named _Ollivander's – Quality Wands since 382 B.C._

_Was Britain even civilized that long ago?_

_**I have no idea. Do I look like a liberal arts major to you?**_

The shop was dark and musty, and consisted of an entire wall filled with boxes. An old man with a sharp pointed noise and piercing gray eyes leaned against the counter, and smiled toothily as they walked in. "Hogwarts, hm, Albus?"

"Yes, Garrick," Professor Dumbledore said. "This is Mr. Tom Riddle."

"How do you do," Tom said automatically.

"Just as ever," Ollivander rasped. "But enough of this chit-chat, eh? Let's get you a wand."

He snatched a random box off the shelf and handed it to Tom (cherry and unicorn hair; ten inches), and before either he or Jerry could even touch it for a proper look, it had been snatched away again. Tom couldn't help this one – that jump of shock had been genuine.

"Don't worry, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore. "He's always like this."

"Um…okay?"

"No, no, not at all…try this one! Oak and dragon heartstring, twelve inches." Ollivander grinned, handing Tom a different box.

That one got snatched away as quickly as the first one. And the next one. Ollivander let Tom hold the fourth, only for a window to explode. And then after that, the desk splintered, and floorboards started coming out. Oddly enough, Ollivander kept smiling, even when Tom stopped profusely apologizing for all the damage done to the shop and settled for wincing instead.

"Tricky customer, eh? I always like a challenge."

_Does he even know what he's doing? Or is he just using your Gobosort algorithm?_

_**It's Bogosort.**_

_Whatever._

"Am I just a really bad wizard?" Tom asked meekly.

"Not at all. You're just a very…complicated personality," Ollivander explained. "The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around, and no two wands are alike. I wonder…" his grey eyes shifted slowly over to Professor Dumbledore. "…here." He produced another box. "Try this. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches."

Tom touched it resignedly, and was surprised to find that instead of the normal violent reaction, there was a warm feeling in his arm. Some bright silver sparks erupted out of the end, bathing the inside of the shop in a bright glow.

Tom stared at it contemplatively. "…Is that a good thing?"

"Well, of course. Any match is a good one. But how curious. How very, very curious." At this, Ollivander looked between him and Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before asking, "Was it one of the two, Garrick?"

Ollivander smiled. "Oh, yes it was, as a matter of fact."

"Excuse me?" Tom asked. "Is there some trouble?"

"Oh, no, not at all. You see, it just so happens that the phoenix feather that makes up the core of your wand was donated by Fawkes – my familiar," Professor Dumbledore told him kindly. (What was it with this man and being kindly?) "Fawkes has only given two feathers in his lifetime, and now one of them is yours."

"And the other one, not sold yet," Ollivander shrugged. "Still, it is interesting. Very interesting."

"Oh. Okay, then," Tom said.

"That will be five Galleons," said Ollivander, and Tom paid him accordingly.

There wasn't much else to do, now that the shopping had finished, and Dumbledore had to get back to the school to start preparing more lesson plans, anyway. So with that, he returned Tom to the orphanage, and after some more obligatory exchanging of pleasantries and instructions on how to get to Platform 9 ¾ (because apparently, while most conservative wizards were against the idea of Muggle technology, they had no problem in boarding a massive red steam engine), Tom was alone with Jerry again.

_I'd say that was an informative day, _Tom mentioned, opening up the lawbook and starting to read. It was highly boring, like all law books were, but it was not as complicated as Muggle laws, simply because wizards hadn't figured out what earmarks were yet, even thousands of years after the first civilizations had sprung up. Anyway, he had plenty of fun every time he came across one of the more ridiculous, wizard-level eccentric sorts of laws ("Turning one's neighbor into a hippopotamous on Tuesdays is illegal") that prompted the question of the background context of the law.

_**Does that mean it's legal on Wednesdays? **_Jerry wondered.

_Too bad you're not allowed to use magic underage._

_**We should test our boundaries. I notice Dumbledore forgot to tell us it was illegal to practice magic outside of Hogwarts before graduation. **_

_How far do you think my boundaries will be, before someone else gets mistaken for my magic, anyway? There's got to be more wizard kids in London, right?_

_**We'll see. For now, let's finish that book. Thank Zoroaster you've got an eidetic memory.**_

_Zoroaster?_

_**I'm atheist.**_

_Oh for the love of Pete…_

In fact, as the lawbook went on, the less and less it seemed to make sense. Half of the laws Tom didn't think anyone even remembered well enough to apply. However, the few important rules scattered about in there were worth the idiocy. And when Tom and Jerry said _important_, they meant the loopholes that could be exploited from those rules, not the actual rules themselves.

For example, the description of underage magical restrictions, through the wording, implied that it could only be detected within the building where said child was residing. If there were multiple children within a building, the Ministry depended on the presence of responsible adults for discipline.

_Obviously, this gives the children with less scrupulous magical parents a distinct advantage._

_**Well, of course. It's not really about forbidding underage magic; it's about preventing stupid little kids from accidentally poking someone's eyes out and causing months of bureaucratic backlog. They probably figured that if a parent let their kid cheat, it would be fine because the parent would be there to prevent the worst of the damage.**_

_Or they could just be to incompetent to bother with fixing a flawed system._

_**That, too.**_

Though Tom was a fast reader, and Jerry was experienced enough to help Tom through some of the more technical legal jargon so that he wouldn't have to waste five minutes staring at the same line, it still took the rest of the day and a little over an hour of reading under the sheets with a glowing ball of magic for light to finish the rest of the book.

But at least all that was the worst of it. The cumulative legal portfolio of the past few centuries' worth of Wizarding legislation, including the useless and overly complicated ones, was easily thicker than any other three of the rest of the textbooks combined – possibly longer than _all _of them, if all the font was the same size (all the first year textbooks had HUGE print, while the law book was almost completely written in fine print).

The next day, Tom woke up early, swore as he realized he could no longer use magic to finish his chores, and then decided that since he was never told explicitly that he couldn't, anyway, decided to wandlessly try it. When nothing happened for a few hours, Tom shrugged, and decided that until they sent him some sort of warning or deposited some wizard policemen at his doorstep, he continued to work as normal. He burned through all of the coursework like mad. There was nothing that he couldn't memorize at first reading, no spell that he couldn't perform perfectly on the first try.

Of course, he still left his room at regular intervals so that people wouldn't be suspicious, and gave the excuse that he had been "randomly" selected by the government for a special program when questioned about that mysterious school that he was going to be attending in the fall.

The last book he picked up was _Hogwarts, a History_. He had deliberately procrastinated on reading that particular one because of previously poor experiences with other history textbooks (including the standard first-year text). After all, if the Muggle ones were bad, just how skewed were the wizards? The wizarding population was very small – whereas one could fine hundreds of different historians arguing on one topic at a single university in London, there might be only one or two guys dictating the whole thing in Magical Britain.

Tom took everything he read with a barrel of salt.

Thankfully, it turned out to me much more entertaining in a good way than the law book and the other first-year history text was in a bad way, which was something. Apparently not all wizards (or witch, since the author was one Bathilda Bagshot) were completely incompetent.

There were, however, still a few issues. It was no fault of the author, but Tom (mostly due to Jerry's rather overly logical interjections) was constantly questioning the so-called traditions of these wizards.

Not that he was going to scream it aloud where everyone could hear him. He knew quite well how touchy people could get about foreigners insulting their culture, regardless of how right or reasonable said foreigner was. Even now, there were certain cultures that still actively condoned sex-selective infanticide, among other things.

_Weird…so they sort kids here according to personality? _Tom asked as he read. _How do they even know this? Do they even know what psychologists or personality tests are? Or do they read our minds?_

_**There's this magic hat that they put on your head, and then it shouts out for the world to hear if you're a loudmouthed idiot, a boring nerd, a lying cheater, or a pushover who will never get anywhere in life.**_

…_Are you serious?_

_**I was serious about the wizards, wasn't I?**_

_Wait, so does this hat read your mind?_

_**I guess…**_

_How are we supposed to get out of this one?_

_**We don't. But luckily, there's confidentiality involved. The hat's not allowed to tell anyone about anything it saw in your head.**_

_Are you sure? How do you know?_

_**Because things. And wizards don't make sense.**_

_How are you being so calm about this? You were completely freaking about about Dumbledore being able to read our minds before!_

_**Yeah…well…it's even more suspicious declining to be Sorted, right?**_

_I suppose so. But if that hat thing DOES blab, how are we going to pass this off?_

_**Cry. Cry deeply.**_

_I'm being serious!_

_**You really think they'll believe that a crying kid is going to become a Dark Lord one day?**_

_Genghis Khan probably cried as a kid, too._

_**Logical wizards is an oxymoron, Tom. Remember that.**_

_What about Dumbledore? Will he believe the hat?_

_**If worst comes to worst, just pretend to have a change of heart. People can change between the ages of eleven and seventeen.**_

…_Fine._

_**Anyway, now that you know what all the Houses represent, which House do you want to be doomed to for the next seven years of your life?**_

_What, you get to choose? I thought it was like the wands._

_**Yeah, well, apparently the Hat takes your choice into account. Apparently, everyone's smart enough to determine their fate for the rest of their lives by choice alone.**_

_At age eleven._

_**Wizards are stupid; have I mentioned that? **_

_I like Slytherin, but you said that was the house of lying cheaters, so would that hurt our chances in lying low? Maybe I could throw everyone off by being sorted into Gryffindor._

_**Maybe. You want a house that would optimize your recruiting potential. You will need plenty of accomplices to get this whole "World Domination" thing up to speed. At this point in time, the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is probably not that strong, but it's still there. You'd have better luck in the middle ground houses. The centrist political strategy and all that.**_

_Yeah, well, Hufflepuffs aren't taken too seriously, are they? So that just leaves Ravenclaw. The house of the smart kids. I can live with that. _

_**There are actually plenty of respectable Ravenclaws. Not all of them are completely boring.**_

_Did you plan for me to choose Ravenclaw?_

_**Well, it's not like there's any other House that will allow you to maximize your recruitment potential. If you're going to have minions, you should get smart ones. Ravenclaw's the best House to start. **_

_What about Slytherin? Cunning and ambition have to count for something, right? The fact that they have two different houses for "intelligent" and "clever" mean that there has to be a visible difference._

_**Slytherin…eh. I guess once upon a time, that was true. Now the whole value system has been oversimplified and bastardized.**_

_How so?_

_**Well, in Slytherin House, half of it's true cunning, and then the other half is a bunch of spoiled brats sitting on their parents' fortunes.**_

_Let me guess…they only got into Slytherin because they "chose" that House at the urging of their parents or grandparents who truly deserved to go there._

_**Pretty much. **_

_But Evil Overlords need dumb mooks, too, don't they?_

_**You never actively recruit dumb mooks yourself. None of the dirty work should be traced back to you. Ever.**_

_Ah, the chain of command. I see._

_**Exactly. Find yourself a few people who are smart, and, if not trustworthy, then at least not smart enough to fool **_**you**_**, to deal with directly. It'll be too hard to keep track of thousands of minions and wondering just which one is going to betray you. **_

_Let me guess: preferably people who you can also fool to think that _they _are the ones controlling you when in fact it is the other way around? _

_**Mind control always helps, too.**_

_But never mind control them directly, right? You have to mind control someone to mind control someone else in a massive chain – no, a massive complicated _web _– and have them wipe their own memories afterwards so that no one can ever trace it back to you. And while we're on that topic, why don't we gain control of the underworld black market while we're at it?_

_**You know me too well.**_

Tom turned the page and continued to read. All citation failures aside, Bathilda Bagshot truly was a pleasant surprise compared to the rest of wizarding authors, considering that she wasn't afraid to mention multiple versions of the same story and give equal credence to each. It wasn't long, though, before he had questions again.

_Hey…it says here that Salazar Slytherin can speak to snakes._

_**So it does.**_

_And it says that his gift is hereditary._

_**So it is.**_

_And all of his direct descendants are Parselmouths._

_**So they are.**_

…

…

_HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK? THAT COMPLETELY DEFIES GENETICS! EVEN IF IT WAS A COMPLETELY DOMINANT GENE AND THE SLYTHERIN LINE INBRED LIKE CRAZY THERE SHOULD STILL BE PEOPLE WHO GET BOTH RECESSIVE TRAITS! WHAT THE HELL! DOES MAGIC SIMPLY EXIST TO MAKE GREGOR MENDEL CRY – _

_**Interesting.**_

_What?_

_**I would have thought you would have drawn the conclusion that since you can speak to snakes as well, you must be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, too. That fact that you're more concerned about the genetic implications seems to be –**_

_Because we both already know that! You're not stupid; we both came to the same conclusion. To say so again would be redundant._

_**Oh. I see.**_

_Anyway, I'm pretty sure that it was my mother who was the magical one, because who else but a witch would have a father named "Marvolo"? Speaking of magical relatives, I wonder if they're still alive. I mean, it's not every day a witch dies in a Muggle orphanage, right?_

…_**Trust me. You're better off in this orphanage than with your magical relatives.**_

_Why?_

_**Well…you remember that comment you made earlier about inbreeding?**_

…

...

_...Oh, god._

_**Yeah. **_

_Okay._

**_Mmm-hmmm..._**

_How bad is it?  
><em>

_**Let's just say that they made the Hapsburgs look completely normal.**_

_Mentally or physically?_

…_**Both.**_

_That's…_

_**...Yeah.**_

_Wait – so why am I not a deformed hemophiliac or whatever?_

_**Well, your father was a Muggle. Fresh genes and all that.**_

_This makes no sense. One generation of fresh genes can't do THAT much…can it?_

_***Magic!***_

_Oh, come on. Surely you must be exaggerating their excessive faults…_

_**The Hapsburgs inbred for a few generations during the Holy Roman Empire era. The Slytherins have been inbreeding since the 900s when Hogwarts was founded.**_

_Yikes._

_**One day we might go visit your relatives. **_

_I'm guessing it's not for a very philanthropic cause._

_**Our dream is to become a Dark Lord. Since when were we philanthropists?**_

_Oh, I don't know. That Machiavelli book you made me read talked about being nice and merciful when you could use it to your advantage…_

_**Still makes you a selfish bastard.**_

_Well, THEY don't need to know, do they? I'm sure idiots always have some use. After all, what is family for except eliminating your competition to the throne?_

_***Sniff sniff***_

_What's wrong?_

_**Nothing…I'm just so…I'm just so…**_

_You're so…what? Are you all right? You're not going to go insane on me, are you? Jerry, are you all right – _

_**I'M JUST SO **_**HAPPY**_**! I KNEW I raised you right!**_

_Oh, for the love of –_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Still looking for a cover, if any of you artsy folks are interested. Even though, in hindsight, having an adorable baby rabbit as the mascot for a story about world domination is pretty damn funny...

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_50. My main power sources will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with the accepted standard."_

After a few more weeks of spell practicing, Tom and Jerry eventually concluded that the "no magic outside of school" rule only applied once you started Hogwarts. Therefore, they tried cramming as much as they could into their brains – well, more like Tom's _brain _(singular) – before that grace period was up and they would be restricted for another seven years. Or, at least, be burdened with the inconvenience of walking all the way out of the orphanage into a different wizard's zone every time he wanted to practice magic over the summer.

Not that it was _im_possible to convince Mrs. Cole to let him go out with just a bit of charm and a false smile…it was just that she'd probably send some other kids to go with him to make sure he didn't get kidnapped or something. And taking the time to give them the slip would be extremely annoying. Especially since everyone liked following him around everywhere. That was one of the downsides of being the nice kid that no one could hate.

Or, they could just find some younger Muggle-born children in the vicinity, kill their parents, wait for the government to relocate them to Wool's Orphanage, and subsequently blame everything they did on said other child's accidental magic. It wouldn't be hard - Hogwarts apparently had this magical ledger that wrote down the names of all the magical children born in Great Britain at any given time.

Of course, they'd have to get away from the orphanage long enough to use magic in the first place...

Tom just didn't want the magical community to be able to track him down somehow. Unlikely, since he would be outside of his zone in the first place, but, you know. He'd have to make it look like they died through Muggle means. Like a gas leak. Oh, that would be brilliant. Wait for the child to go off somewhere - at this point, the mother would probably be at home doing homely things, and the father would also be at home because he was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression - and then take a wrench to the pipes and wait.

Suffocation would be slow, but they could always hope for someone to unwittingly light a cigarette.

_**This **_**is _1937, after all._**

But they'd burn that bridge when they got there. Currently, Tom was simply holed up in his room and making the occasional knockers go away by saying, "Sorry, I'm busy right now. Maybe next time?" and smiling.

It was amazing, what you could do, by phrasing a command as a suggestion.

Tom was burning through all of his coursework with maddening ease. By the time August rolled around, Tom had finished every single spell mentioned in the first-year curriculum, and, being the genius he was, also memorized all his textbooks by heart.

_**Holy shit. And I thought Hermione Granger was joking.**_

_What? Who's Hermione Granger?_

_**Someone who was born in, like, 1980.**_

_Was she important?_

_**Sure. Yes. Yes she was.**_

_Was she a witch?_

_**Yes.**_

_Was she important to me in any way? Like, the cause of my future downfall – _

…_**Hey, look! It's a butterfly!**_

_You are SO obvious. How are you my advisor to world domination again?_

_**Hey. You're the one who has to lie to people, not me. I do the theoretical path to conquering, and you do the actual application.**_

The only problem they ran into was a certain passage in the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Something about basilisks, and how their venom could be counteracted by phoenix tears. Then there was a footnote describing phoenixes.

"Phoenixes are magical, immortal birds that, at the end of their lives, burst into flames, and are reborn from the fire. Aside from their healing tears, they are also highly intelligent birds whose tail feathers can be used in wand cores, and whose song can strengthen the pure and noble while striking fear into the hearts of the wicked."

_...That might be a problem._

_**Yes. That might be a problem.**_

_Wait - how do they even know who's wicked or not? Is there, like, Saint Peter in their brains or something?_

**_Maybe it's a psychological effect. _**

_Like that "look inside yourself" bullcrap?_

**_Probably. I mean, it's hypocritical to call yourself good when you judge others for being evil, right? There's no real right or wrong...I mean, for all we know, serial killers are the greatest good this world will ever get, since humans are the greatest causes of pollution and habitat destruction to Mother Earth._**

_A little decrease in the surplus population would do us good..._

**_Ahem._**

_...But not genocide! Because that's stupid, and it cuts down heavily on genetic diversity, which might be highly necessary next time there's some massive outbreak of an incurable plague! Right?_

**_Ah, good, you're learning._**

_So are we evil?_

**_Well...that's debatable. I mean, apart from the whole "taking over the world" and "eliminating your enemies" thing..._  
><strong>

_Well, killing billions of people would be a pain in the ass, yes. And it will get you noticed and reviled. But we won't be killing billions of people because that would be stupid._

**_Yes. Yes, it would be._**

_So are we evil? I mean, I don't think so, but that's just because I don't care about what anyone else thinks. I think that we're totally reasonable beings for wanting the entire earth to ourselves. As long as no one is suffering needlessly, it should be fine, right? _

**_And, well, from a Darwinist viewpoint, we're just ensuring the most comfort for ourselves, right? It's a matter of survival! We HAVE to control everyone in order to be absolutely certain that none of them are going to turn around and kill us! The phoenix song can't blame us for wanting to live, right?_**

_Do you think it'll really take that BS?_

**_I don't know._**

_Ugh. What happens if Professor Dumbledore wants to introduce us to his phoenix?_

**_Well, theoretically, if we just _eliminate _our sense of good and evil, then it won't be able to affect us, right? _**

_I'm not really sure if that will work._

**_Can you learn to just make yourself deaf?_**

_I can try...it shouldn't be too hard, right?_

There were many ways in which magic could be molded, some more easy than others. Thankfully, shutting off one's own senses, like changing colors of everyday items, were among the easy things.

In the privacy of his room, Tom pointed his wand at a book, lazily transfigured into a rabbit, and then snapped its neck, at which point it turned back into a book. Apparently, you couldn't turn non-food items into food items or potential food items (or living things in general, it seemed – although you could certainly get them to _act _like living things). For example, if you transfigured a rubber eraser into a pencil, say, the wood and graphite would remain wood and graphite. But if you turned a rubber eraser into, say, a chicken, it would only _look _like a chicken until you tried to cut it up. Even a _piece_ of chicken would fall apart back into a rubber eraser if you damaged it too much.

Figures, that the number one necessity of basic survival after air and water was unavailable to magic.

Which really worried Tom, because what if you swallowed something _whole_?

Say, someone transfigured a vial of poison into a vitamin pill that was meant to be swallowed, and the pill only turned back into poison when it hit the stomach acid?

**_Why don't we test it?_**

According to the tiny corpses littering the orphanage kitchen after Tom transfigured a few packets of the janitor's rat poison into bits of not-exactly-cheese – _yes_, that was a very, _very_ real method of assassination.

Which begged the question, why didn't wizards outlaw this stuff a long, long time ago?

_Let me guess…wizards are stupid?_

**_Oh, very. I didn't even realize it until now._**

_How has no one been murdered this way, yet? There has got to be SOMETHING against this!_

Besides being inconvenient and dangerous, however, the "no food" rule was also completely senseless. After all, wood was a biotic substance too, wasn't it? It had the same level of complexity compared to animals, since it, too, was composed of cells and whatnot. So why did wood not revert to the original, pre-transfiguration state, when edible things like fruit or protein did? It was possible to change a book into an actual living flower without any damage. You could conjure Devil's Snare out of thin air, and that was as sentient as plants got. But as soon as you made anything remotely edible appear it became little more than an illusion.

_**Maybe it has something to do with energy levels. "Food" is something that will give your body more energy than it takes to digest, and doesn't also kill you. That's why you can make wood or air or water out of nothing. Because the human body can't digest wood.**_

_Maybe._

_**Try changing something into celery. Celery gives you negative calories. I think. I heard lettuce and onions and cucumbers also take more energy to digest than they provide. **_

Tom flicked his wand at one of the books on his nightstand again, and the annoying green vegetable smiled up at him innocently. He tried to break it in half.

It reverted back to a book as soon as the first crack appeared in the stem.

_**WHAT THE HELL?**_

_Well, obviously, that didn't work. Any other brilliant ideas, smart one?_

_**WIZARDS MAKE NO FUCKING SENSE!**_

Tom sighed. _On that note, neither does the spells, in general. I mean, Chinese wizards can make stuff float, too, right? But I doubt they use this bastardized Latin and French and whatever to do it. And I never needed "Wingardium Leviosa" to make things float before, either. A wand, I can understand, because that's a physical tool used to control and channel magic. But words! Why does it matter what you say and how you wave your wand?_

Jerry was silent. Then he suggested, _**Maybe it DOESN'T matter, and all of this spell business is little more than a placebo, to aid in concentration. Maybe it's not**_** what _you say, but the simple fact that you said _something _in the first place. _**_**Maybe**** once upon a time, some wizard found that saying something stupid while he tried to make a feather float simply made it easier. And now everyone is saying "Wingardium Leviosa" because it helped that first guy. **_

_You really think so?_

_**We can test it. You're still fairly young, so you're not so dependent on this spell business just yet, and you're also powerful enough that you've become proficient in controlling your magic before Hogwarts has indoctrinated you in using random words and gestures. Try one of those things that we couldn't do with a wand before, like…I don't know, making the book sprout legs and tap dance.**_

_Is there even a spell for that?...never mind. There probably is. Wizards have absolutely NO sense of practicality whatsoever._

_**Whatever. This is for educational purposes!**_

So Tom pointed his wand at the book and willed it to start tap-dancing.

_Start tap-dancing. Start tap-dancing. Grow a pair legs and start tap-dancing, dammit._

The book slowly and sluggishly raised itself into the air, sprouted some appendages made from thickly rolled paper from between the pages, and began bouncing around awkwardly on top of the nightstand. Gradually, the movements became more certain, until finally, there was a book unmistakeably tap-dancing on his nightstand.

Tom stared, not knowing what to make of the situation.

_**So you can make inanimate objects tap-dance just by **_**wanting **_**it to, but you can't make celery? Celery might as well be WOOD for the amount of nutrition it gives you! WHAT THE HELL?**_

_Jerry…are you sure I'm real, and all of this just isn't some figment of my imagination? Because there's no way anything can make this little sense._

_**Maybe YOU'RE the imaginary one, and I'm lying in the hospital in a coma after getting hit by a truck.**_

_Ha ha ha. Very funny._

_**The important thing is figuring out this food business. I mean, the rule against "no making actual living things" makes sense because you'd have to remember to conjure all the proper nerves and whatnot, and "no making precious metals" is a given because we don't want to get arrested, but…food? What sort of random exception is that? Did someone just pull that rule out of their ass?**_

_Seems like it. I mean, I suppose it could be because proteins, starches, vitamins, and so on are just too complex for the human mind to imagine. So wizards just sort of imagine what food looks like on the surface, but then it's not really food…Maybe that's why most wizards have trouble conjuring clothes. Because cotton, wool, silk, and other fabrics have complex components…_

_**But plants have complex proteins and starches, too! And I KNOW for a fact that wizards don't know anything about atoms, much less think about the chemical composition of clay every time they make a teacup from a watch!**_

…_This makes no sense. Like everything else. But mainly this. Why is there a stupid rule against FOOD of all things? We actually NEED food to survive! And why is it that you can't CREATE food, but you can INCREASE food? It totally goes against the laws of physics! Physics works the other way around! You can change matter and energy into different forms, just not create or destroy any. So why is it that you can just make _more _food appear, but you can't make food from something else? How is it that plants can grow in nature, and we can make a flower appear but not a carrot?_

_**There's got to be a rule. Something that we're missing.**_

_At least we know that I don't need to know the name of a spell to make it happen. I could get away with anything just by pointing out that I'm a first-year from a Muggle background and would have had no way to learn it!_

_**Wait. Perform Wingardium Leviosa again. Normally. As in, use the actual spell.**_

Tom halted the tap-dancing book and started making it float around.

_**Now go and…make your blankets tie themselves into knots. Using willpower only.**_

Tom did so, not quite sure what Jerry was up to.

_**Now make your bed again.**_

After a little bit of concentration, Tom's sheets were lying as flatly and pristinely as they were before.

_**Now…banish that book across the room and then summon it back again. No spells.**_

There wasn't a spell in the first-year curriculum for summoning and banishing – Tom was sure that a simple action like this would probably have a well-used spell, but it wouldn't be taught until at least fourth year, according to the Educational Standards that had been included in the law registry. Nonetheless, even without any knowledge of how banishing or summoning should work, Tom still quite effortlessly completed the assigned tasks.

It was all about _wanting _something to happen, and even _if _he hadn't mastered this particular skill years ago, it wouldn't be difficult anyway. There was no selfish bastard in the world more selfish than Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And Jerry, too, he supposed, since he was _agreeing _to all this in the first place.

_**Now say Priori Incantatem. It reveals the last few spells your wand performed.**_

"Priori Incantatem," Tom said, sounding quite foolish, and watched as his wand regurgitated the Hover Charm that he used on the book, and, before that, a few of the spells Tom had been practicing from the textbooks.

_**Whoa. Holy crap. Holy mother of Jesus…**_

_What are you so excited about? What was the point of all that?_

_**Don't you see it? This spell is THE number one tool used by law enforcement! But your little "willpower" exercises – the spells that you never had any names or incantations for…**_

…_they don't show up. _

_Wait._

_They don't show up._

_They don't show up!_

_THEY. DON'T. SHOW. UP!_

_**EXACTLY!**_

_Magic performed without words – not nonverbal magic, but simply magic without any reference whatsoever – doesn't show up, because it's _not an actual spell_! And wandless magic won't show up, either. Meaning…as long as all of our dirty work is done using nothing but willpower…_

…_**we can get away with basically anything!**_

_And we can _do _basically anything, too, even _if _we don't know the spell for that!_

_**We can fake spells, too! Like, point a wand at a book and say "Wingardium Leviosa" but don't actually **_**mean **_**it, and watch everyone's faces as it tap-dances across the desk instead!**_

_We can even invent things that don't exist!_

_**Hell, we can just make shit up and publish a book! "Everyone, if you say 'Alfa Kenny Buddy' when you point your wand at a book, it will tap-dance!" Oh my god, I can totally see their faces now! This will be priceless!**_

_"Alfa…Kenny…Buddy…?" Is that another one of your weird futuristic references?_

…_**Maybe.**_

_What does it mean?_

_**I can't tell you.**_

_Why not?_

_**You'll find out later!**_

_Let me guess: it's related to MY future specifically, and it'll cause some weird paradox if you tell me? And why are you laughing?_

_**...Sure. Totally. You know what? I can totally see it happening.**_

_What?_

_**Listen. Your dad might be a Muggle, but thank the gods of genetics you got his physical appearance.**_

_What does that have to do with anything? We were talking about spells!_

_**Nothing. You'll find out when you're older.**_

_Tell me!_

_**I will. Eventually.**_

_Well, you're no fun._

_**Oh, that's what YOU think.**_

After some more wasted minutes of nagging, to no avail, Tom gave up on wheedling the answer out of Jerry and went back to testing the unwritten rules of magic that none of these goddamned wizards ever bothered to write down. More specifically, none of them probably tried to question it. Or, if they did, then they probably gave up after seeing the sheer uselessness of it all and ended up ramming their own wands through their ears.

September 1st wasn't for another two weeks, and his world had already begun. Whatever plans Tom had made to sneak back into Diagon Alley to exchange the first-year books for second-year ones were thrown completely out the window.

It had been a pretty _good _plan, too. One, make copies of the originals, so none of the teachers would question him for not having his textbooks, because apparently normal people _didn't _have the ability to memorize textbooks or master new skills that quickly, and revealing the extent of his intelligence this early in the game would be rather dangerous as it would cause him to be labeled as either a threat or a cheat. And then, two, pretend that last time he came the shopkeeper had taken one look at him, automatically assumed that he was a first-year, and given him the wrong set all because he was naturally short.

But now he didn't even have to walk all the way to the Leaky Cauldron again.

He didn't need any of that incantation business. Hell, it would probably even slow him down because the transition from verbal to nonverbal spells was a lot harder than the other way around – and why do things the hard way?

Then again, he'd probably have to memorize the spells anyway. Just to keep up appearances and whatnot, you know?

He'd burn that bridge when he got there, too.

In any event, by the time the summer had come, at the end of two weeks of nonstop testing, Tom had determined the following:

- A wizard doesn't need to know a spell in particular as long as he knows the end result. Given, of course, that he has the intelligence and willpower to follow through.

- There is no visible energy difference between using a spell and simply wanting something to happen. For most people, however, there _is _a visible difference in effort between learning the spell and learning how to do something without a spell.

- And apparently it's possible to conjure things that don't exist yet as long as you know what they're supposed to do and how they work. Cue: an integrated circuit in 1937. (Note: it still takes a lot of time and concentration to build because you have to visualize how to form all the internal components properly.)

- On the other hand, making the magical version of something is relatively easy as long as you vaguely know what you want it to do. You don't even have to know what it looks like on the inside, as long as you can form the interface. Cue: an iPhone in 1937. (Of course, if someone tries to take it apart, you're in trouble.)

- Historically, the Goblins have a magical contract with the wizards that gives them a monopoly over copper, silver, and gold, which is used to make Wizarding currency, which is why people don't (or maybe _can't_) just randomly conjure it. They also have control over other valuable items like platinum and precious gems.

- But nowhere does it mention that they have control over the market for highly dense graphite, which _can _be made into diamonds with a few extra pressure spells. It's not illegal! And they won't catch us if we put it into Muggle markets!

- And none of the above will ever show up if there is no incantation.

- BUT WE STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAKE FOOD. (Or medicine, after that failed attempt to make the cure for polio.)

_Wizards. Don't. Make. Sense!_

_**No. No, they don't.**_

Still, apart from the entire "ingestible materials" debacle (which was really, really, _really _getting on Tom and Jerry's nerves), most of the loopholes they had figured out about the nature of magic itself was pretty useful. Given the rather clueless nature of most wizards, Jerry doubted that any of them even _knew _about these special rules (or, if they did, were too ingrained in tradition to attempt it), and Tom had to agree.

The only downside to all this new knowledge was that they currently could not use it to their advantage – simply accumulate it. (Well, maybe that was a good thing – it would earn them points in the "thirst for knowledge" category, which would definitely help them convince the Sorting Hag to put them in Ravenclaw, which would be a lot more beneficial to their Dark Lord conspiracy in the long run.) But the point was, Tom could not go around as an eleven-year-old marketing an iPhone when he had no idea how it worked, or selling diamonds when he had no titles to any mines for his name and end up getting arrested for stealing by Muggle authorities.

He'd have to learn how to properly mind-control people first, so he could use middle-men as puppets to sell the product for him. And that was a lot harder than it sounded. The human mind was a delicate thing, and though willpower alone was enough to make random things appear out of thin air, Jerry didn't want to risk accidentally permanently damaging the minds of anyone around them.

The Ministry probably could only tab actual spells, not this willpower thing, but still – if random people in the orphanage where Little Tommy lived started behaving weirdly like they were brain-damaged, there would be inconvenient questions. Maybe the Ministry wouldn't figure it out, but Albus Dumbledore certainly would.

Little Tommy the orphan about to go to Hogwarts practicing spells in his bedroom to catch up to the other kids – whatever. Little Tommy the orphan practicing _Confundo_, which is a rather advanced spell,on Muggles – not okay.

Ugh. Why did things like _rules _have to exist?

But they didn't have the time to wander around on the cold, gray streets of London, and the matron wouldn't let an eleven-year-old boy go off on his own, anyway. Tom would have to wait until Hogwarts to practice and perfect his mind-controlling abilities without getting caught, and maybe later he could "persuade" the matron to let him wander about come second year without rendering her an unresponsive vegetable. Some of the older teenagers, she ignored, but the younger children who still had a chance of getting adopted (the number was still very low, as Tom had unfortunately been born right before the Great Depression hit) had to be kept safe – or at least innocent enough to look good in front of potential families.

_"Alfa…kenny…" _

…_I don't get it._

* * *

><p>AN: Tom having mastered nonverbal magic isn't at all that unrealistic, to me. One, he already managed to figure out how to do a ton of stuff without verbalizing spells, using a wand, _or _having a teacher, and he wasn't even eleven yet. Two, I never understood all the business with _spell _spells in the first place, as you can probably tell by Jerry's outbursts.

Just in case anyone felt like screaming "Gary-Stu!" Hey, we're taking over the world. There has to be _some _degree of perfection involved, right? Otherwise we wouldn't be worthy in attempting global domination.


	4. Chapter 4

EDIT: So sorry guys. I spotted a typo and went back to fix it. I must have accidentally hit 'delete' while replacing the chapter. Still new to this site, so forgive my technological impairments.

* * *

><p>AN: WARNING – potentially offensive material somewhere down there. Keep in mind that this is the 1930s, and certain terms and views considered politically incorrect now were completely normal back then.

* * *

><p><em>"17. Advisors exist for their advice to be listened to. That is why, when I have advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice."<em>

Tom had to depart from Wool's Orphanage in regular attire, in order to blend in with the rest of the environment. Thankfully, though, that was the only concession he had to make that day, as Mrs. Cole had deemed him responsible enough to get to the train station without running into trouble or taking mysterious detours through shady alleys. Along the way, Tom managed to make no less than three old people faint with his failed attempts at mind control, and decided to save the practice for later.

_**I TOLD you, but did you listen? No! You're lucky that all they did was faint, because if heads suddenly started exploding you'd be in big trouble!**_

_Okay! Fine! I said I was sorry! I don't see what the fuss is all about!_

_**It's called "giving yourself away," you idiot. People don't conquer the whole damn world in just a day! You can wait a week or two as you get settled in Hogwarts and figure out the best targets and points to practice.**_

_Ugh! Fine. You don't have to whine so much about it._

_**I'd rather not get expelled or thrown into Azkaban for using magic on some random Muggles and making them faint. Honestly.**_

_What? We're way beyond the orphanage point, aren't we? _Sure enough, the public trolley had stopped in front of the train station, where many other wizard families were presumably going to take their children to the Hogwarts train. Some of them were doing a horrible job at trying to be Muggle, and these men in dresses and striped bathing suits were garnering some rather odd stares (honestly, how difficult was the concept of shirts and trousers? You people WEAR these clothes _underneath _your robes on a daily basis!). Others, probably the rich and proud purebloods, didn't bother to dress up at all, and were strolling along, robes and all. Ironically, these people were less obtrusive than the failed attempts at dressing up like Muggles, because wizard robes were basically little more than fancy trench coats that didn't have pockets.

They certainly looked less insane than men in dresses.

At least the funny sights were enough to get Jerry to stop throwing a fit at him. All right, so what he did was stupid. But at least he picked his targets carefully. They were all different people on different trains, so it wasn't like they'd single him out as the greatest common factor anytime soon, and anyway, old ladies fainted all the time.

_God, they're so wonderfully clueless, aren't they? _Tom asked.

_**Reminds me of an old joke I heard, **_Jerry snickered.

_What? _Tom asked, interested.

Now, normally, he hated jokes. Especially the stupid ones that other kids in the orphanage told. They were usually senseless puns or something immature and related to human excrement. With Jerry (and most other adults, he suspected), however, a "joke" was usually something far more subtle and often cutting in nature.

It was too bad that about a third of the time, Jerry would refuse to tell him said joke – usually on the grounds that Tom was too young for that sort of joke. (In that case he wouldn't actually _announce _that he had a joke – he'd just snicker quietly to himself and refuse to explain why he was laughing.) Now, Tom didn't quite understand why Jerry could say that he was too young for something as simple as a joke and then lecture him on twenty-first century scientific principles, but who was he to judge? All of the jokes he had heard from Jerry so far would go way over the heads of the other eleven-year-olds in the orphanage. Perhaps those secret jokes in Jerry's arsenal were really just that advanced. Tom couldn't wait until he was old enough to understand them.

He didn't like a lot of people, and he certainly had no need for something as useless as _love_, but Jerry was quite an amicable and amusing companion. And since they shared the same mind, anyway, he supposed he should have gotten used to Jerry's presence sooner or later. They weren't exactly the same person, but they might as well be, and that was as good of an excuse for him as anything for liking a different person than himself. (Tom, personally, divided people into three groups – the useless, who were meant for subjugation, the useful, whom he allotted time to proportional to their levels of usefulness, and companions. Of the last group, there was only one person in there, and that was himself. And, by default, Jerry, who was also a part of him.)

So when Jerry said that he had a joke, it usually meant that something darkly good, or at least informative, was coming, and it would do him well to listen.

Either that, or dead babies.

_**All right. It's not so much of a joke as a life lesson, as said by this one Prussian general: "I divide my officers into four groups – the intelligent, the stupid, the hardworking, and the lazy. Each officer possesses at least two of these qualities. The hardworking and intelligent are fit for general duties. The lazy and stupid can have some use in menial tasks. The intelligent and lazy are fit for positions of highest command, for they will find the most efficient ways to complete a given task."**_

_And what of the stupid and hardworking officers?_

_**"They are a menace and must be disposed of immediately."**_

Tom snorted aloud and hastily pretended that he was sneezing. _Like those idiots who are trying so hard to dress like Muggles and still failing?_

_**It would probably be a lot better for the International Statute of Secrecy that those people just not be allowed to leave their homes, yes.**_

…_And this is why we will change on the train._

_**"Change" is a bad word…really, you're just pulling a robe over your regular clothes.**_

_True, true._

It was not long before they found the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Besides the completely arbitrary nature of the number, Tom had to wonder if these people ever thought things through before doing something. Surely, someone had to realize that putting a portal right in the middle of one of the busiest crossroads in England would draw attention? Or was there some secret spell that made Muggles ignore a whole crowd of randomly dressed people walking straight at a brick wall and then disappearing?

_**There probably is. But we will NOT be attempting that until we master basic mind control first, all right? **_

_No making people's eyeballs pop out of their heads; I GOT IT._

Rather than running headfirst at a brick wall like so many other idiots, Tom simply eased his way through the bricks casually like he always belonged there. After he got over the novelty of a giant red train appearing out of nowhere just as Diagon Alley had (did these wizards _not _realize the implications, the power and potential, that they had, bending time and space like that? For all their ingenuity, Muggles were still working their arses off trying to figure out subatomic physics and astronomy and all that, and then these wizards who don't even have the _concept _of the scientific method down create volumetric anomalies like Americans shot guns!) he realized that this had about zero difference from any other train platform, aside from the people it serviced.

_**Yeah, I don't really get space-expansion charms, either.**_

_I don't get the concept of "poor wizards." They shouldn't need gold to buy anything except food. Theoretically they could all live in mansions the size of closets._

_**Probably because not everyone is a genius like you, Mr. I-learned-how-to-conjure-furniture-before-Hogwarts.**_

_I still have to learn these space-expansion charms, though. I still can't wrap my head around the concept of something being bigger on the inside than the outside. And I still can't understand why a simple incantation makes things that much easier._

_**Well, it doesn't, does it? At least, not for you. Those charms are actually pretty advanced – most wizards take a long time to master it, if they can at all, even **_**with **_**the incantation. You've only had your wand for a little over a month.**_

_I guess you're right._

_**For now, let's just get on the train, find a bathroom or an empty compartment, and fix your robes. Can't have you making allies in rags.**_

_They're not…rags, _Tom protested indignantly._ They might not be top-of-the-line designer robes, but I made sure that they didn't come from the bottom of the bin._

_**Whatever. It shouldn't take you long to make them look new, even if you didn't have magic.**_

_Why do you say that?_

**Really?**_** You're an **_**orphan**_** living in **_**Great Britain**_**. You should have gotten all of your fingers **_**chopped off**_** in a **_**textile factory**_** at the age of **_**five**_**.**_

_For your information, the Victorian era ended a few decades ago, you old man._

_**Old man? YOU'RE the one who was born in nineteen-freaking-twenty-six.**_

_Now, now, respect your elders._

_**Damn it. You're **_**learning**_**.**_

_Sucker._

But Tom did end up fixing up the frayed edges and reapplying some of the faded dye on the uniform that he had brought along in his carry-on bag. Really, compared to some of the things that he had been attempting in the past few weeks, it was a walk in the park. He wasn't changing the chemical composition of anything, nor was he stretching his mind to visualize a situation that wasn't common knowledge. Fixing clothes was something all the orphans had experience with.

The only tricky part was making him look good enough so that people wouldn't turn up their noses at him right away, without making him look _too _snobbish that it became obvious. Seeing as Dumbledore had shopped with him and everything. Besides, pulling the "poor little orphan" card could be helpful at times.

_Now what?_

_**Now, we look for potential allies. If there's an established group, leave them alone and don't try to take them on until you have an established group of your own. Now, if they're a group of newly formed friends, as in, they look like they still don't know each other that well, then by all means, worm your way in and subtly establish yourself as a leader.**_

_Understood. _As mentioned before, while Jerry was the idea man, Tom was best at practical applications. He had done this all the time in the orphanage and at school, easy. In all seriousness the orphanage probably had prepared Tom better for life than two loving parents – there were certain skills useful to future politicians that could be picked up in childhood, especially when one was constantly surrounded by large numbers of other children.

There was no escape for Tom. If a regular kid got bullied at school, he could at least come crying home to his parents. But orphans were surrounded by the unsympathetic public day in and day out. It may not have been the most nurturing environment, but the few who thrived (read: Tom) could become especially used to the same group behavior in adults.

They were sheep, the lot of them.

If, in another life, Tom was reborn as a wolf, he'd be ready.

_**And also, don't surround yourself with cronies. Having useless friends is helpful simply because it makes your support base look bigger than it is, but you also need relatively smart people to cancel it out.**_

_So, in short: look for loners who seem relatively smart, gather them all up into a group, and then start assimilating the other stragglers like the Soviets annex territory, until your group is large enough to cannibalize the pre-formed cliques?_

…_**Yes. Yes, exactly like that.**_

_Maybe we should just abandon Hogwarts and make a living as a sociologist._

_**We'd probably get into trouble for expressing fascist ideas or something.**_

_Damn the status quo!_

The first person Tom happened to run into was an abnormally short boy (even for an eleven-year-old) named Filius that just absolutely had to be part-goblin given the shape of his ears and limb-torso proportions. Now, _how _his parents thought cross-species interbreeding would be possible was a mystery to both of them, although Jerry seemed more bothered by it than he did. Tom was more concerned about the implications of this genetic mixing and wondered if any new diseases could be introduced to humans in this manner. On the other hand, Jerry seemed rather confused as to how a child could even be produced in the first place.

_Well, goblins _are _relatively humanoid, _Tom suggested, _so maybe they have a functional but sterile child. Kind of like how mules come from horses and donkeys._

_**I mean position-wise. How would that even work? There has got to be at least a 1-meter height difference between the parents…and don't even get me started on Hagrid; that guy's half-giant. How would his father have even reached…?**_

_What position? I don't understand._

_**Never mind.**_

_Half-giant?_

_**He's a bit younger than you. I think you'll meet him in your third or fourth year?**_

_This is SO weird._

Despite his genetic abnormalities, however, Filius proved to be a rather intelligent person. Not as intelligent as Tom, of course, but he was not at all bad company. Better a kid half your size who knew what he was doing than a brute twice your size who didn't.

After a bit more wandering around, they came across a bespectacled girl named Minerva, who was talking to another rather plump girl named Pomona. All of them were first-years who didn't have very many friends yet (or "not-quite-friends", in Tom's case), and he decided that he might as well start there. They weren't complete idiots, and Minerva might even give him a run for his money in the "preparedness for school" department, as she, too, had read all of her books beforehand.

Though the fact that he would have some potential competition was annoying at first, Jerry managed to convince him that her existence was quite convenient for Tom, because she was the reference marker for the difference between "reasonably intelligent" and "just completely batshit insane." Therefore, when they got to classes, Tom would have to make sure to hover about her equal in academics – too much smarter, and people would probably look at him like he was an alien from another planet.

If wizards even entertained the idea of extraterrestrial intelligent life.

That seemed to be the extent of intelligent life for the first-years. Anyone else worth talking to was already older than him, and therefore had the advantage of already having a pre-established social circle. Still, Tom managed to make himself known among them by the time the train stopped at Hogwarts, at least.

Something about "accidentally" running into a bully (third-year, in Hufflepuff, surprisingly) – and no, he hadn't gone around seeking out bullies to bully on purpose at Jerry's urging; what are you talking about? – and levitating a pumpkin pasty so that it dropped right onto his face – in front of a large group of upperclassmen.

The Ravenclaws would like him for taking the initiative to master a few spells before Hogwarts. The Hufflepuffs liked him for putting that blemish on their House's reputation in his place. The Gryffindors liked him for being noble. The Slytherins analyzed his display of power and decided that he would probably become pretty powerful in the future despite the fact that he wasn't pureblood. And it wasn't suspicious at all, because he didn't use any dark curse, because he was working in self-defense and not as an instigator, and because Minerva and Filius knew how to perform _Wingardium Leviosa_, too, so it wasn't like he was _too _far ahead of the curve.

Really, the only unusual thing about the whole situation was the _manner _in which he applied the spell, but that could be as easily attributed to a little first-year desperately using the only spell in his arsenal on the only loose object in sight as it could to an aspiring Evil Overlord taking very careful advantage of a planned situation to earn the respect and trust of a large group of future allies.

Occam's Razor and all that. Oh, _boy_ were they going to milk it for all its worth.

In the end, the only person _really _offended by the whole thing was the bully himself, but he didn't have enough in either the power or the brains department to do anything against Tom. The worst he could do was become an annoying distraction, as no doubt he would hold a grudge against him for this. Then again, annoying distractions could be fatal in crucial times, so maybe they would have to eliminate him in the future. Or maybe Tom could set things up so that said idiot allied himself with Tom's enemies and thereby drag the whole group down.

Then again, it wasn't very wise to let discontent and grudges fester. While it was highly likely that this guy would end up as a no-good bum facedown in a sewer and never end up causing any more damage to him than a wooden dart would to a three-foot-thick castle wall, it was also very possible that his petty revenge could end up triggering a chain reaction that would eventually snowball into something far more dangerous. Given the nature of the occupation of being a Dark Lord, Tom was all too aware of Murphy's Law – anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. It was like the universe had something _against _evil dictators.

Yeah, this guy would be suffering a very tragic and fatal accident in the near future.

He would not be missed. But if he _would _be missed, then it was up to Tom to hunt down those people who would miss him and "accident" him, too. You never knew what idiots might come up with some troll conclusion like "that kid Tom was responsible for his tragic death because he dropped a pie on him on the train in 1937 and so I must take revenge!" and actually be _right_.

But none of that for now. All of the non-first years were already boarding the flying carriages (actually pulled by Threstrals, but Tom hadn't killed anyone yet), leaving the rest to huddle at the edge of the lake. In a short few moments, a little old man appeared by the docks were all of the boats were parked, introduced himself as Ogg, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts, and herded them all onto the boats.

In a few short moments, Hogwarts became fully visible, and this time, Tom couldn't pretend to deny that it wasn't awe-inspiring. Diagon Alley – whatever. Platform 9 ¾ – it was just like any other train.

A full-size fortress from the High Middle Ages staring down at him?

Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that military bunkers were more secure, but that didn't mean Hogwarts wasn't impressive nonetheless. Unlike Diagon Alley and the train platform, Hogwarts was actually bigger than its Muggle counterpart – the public school Tom had gone to before, as well as the secondary school he should have gone to had Hogwarts not provided him with another alternative, didn't even take up the first floor, even if you included the playgrounds and sports fields. And unfortunately, Tom had never been to a military bunker, so there was nothing in his memory that could debunk the castle's grandness.

_**It's pretty cool, I'll admit, **_Jerry agreed. _**Definitely better than the model at Universal Studios.**_

_What's Universal Studios?_

_**It's a place in Florida that hasn't been built yet.**_

_Futuristic reference?_

_**Yep.**_

The boats hit the opposite shore, and they disembarked and began the short walk up to the castle gates. The large double doors swung open automatically to admit them, and Ogg deposited them in the antechamber. "The Deputy Headmaster will be out soon. In the meantime, don't get yourselves into too much trouble, all right? I've got some business I have to attend to."

Tom vaguely wondered how old Ogg had to be, that he had already forgotten all the dangers of leaving a group of highly excitable children in the same room without adult supervision. Especially when some of those children were brought up in highly bigoted households, and some others were victims of said bigots. And _especially _when all of them were untrained young witches and wizards who already had their wands – which were, in their base forms, simply potential weapons of mass destruction.

That was like locking a bunch of rednecks and blacks in the same room. And all of them had a handgun each, but not all of them knew how to use one.

_**You are so racist!**_

_I'm a future Dark Lord and you're whining about me being _racist_?_

_**We are equal-opportunity employers; don't forget that.**_

Almost immediately, a dark-haired boy with an upturned nose that was clearly destined for Slytherin House on the basis of family tradition if not actual cunning and ambition started picking a fight with another boy who was clearly not filthy rich or 100% wizard.

"Now, stop that!" Minerva stepped forward angrily, her Scottish accent coming out extremely thickly. "If ye haven't anythin' nice ta say, then don't say it at all!"

_Oh, god, _Tom thought. _Here we go._

"And who are you?" Snobbish Brat – now revealed to be one Edmond Lestrange – sniggered. He put on a very bad imitation of Minerva's accent, "Ah, lemme guess – lassie from o'er yonder hill, eh?" There were some snickers, and Minerva turned bright red in anger.

_Shit, shit, what do we do? _he though frantically. _We have to defend Minerva or else we'll look bad, but we can't embarrass this guy like we did to the bully on the train because we might actually need his influence and money later!_

_**Just stop the argument. Keep neutral ground. Then explain to Minerva in private later that although you would have liked to hex him, you didn't want to get in trouble before class even started, and that you didn't want to accidentally insult any influential families, either. She'll understand following the rules, even if we don't get revenge.**_

"Stop it, both of you," Tom said, his voice soft, but commanding. There was no magic involved – just behavorial science, something he had practiced and perfected on the other orphans at Wool's. Even Lestrange, the current big fish of the group, stopped his taunting of Minerva for a few seconds to listen to what this kid had to say. "Or do you want to look like childish fools in front of the entire school before you've even been assigned a House?"

If Lestrange knew who he was, then he would have heard the rumors of a first-year who took out a third-year with nothing more than a Levitation Charm. If Lestrange _didn't _know who he was, then Tom cut a respectable figure anyway. He was relatively tall for an eleven-year-old – not too tall to be awkward, but tall enough so that most people had to look up slightly to meet his eyes – and, with his graceful figure, well-combed hair, pale complexion, and sharp cheekbones, could give even the most stuck-up purebloods a run for their money.

Tom knew he was good-looking. And he wasn't afraid to use it.

_**Oh, just you wait until after your voice cracks. Ovaries will start exploding in your presence.**_

_What does my voice cracking have anything to do with exploding ovaries? That sounds like a very messy and inefficient way to kill someone._

_**It was just an expression!**_

_Futuristic reference?_

_**Your future, not mine.**_

_What?_

"Oh?" Lestrange crossed his arms, injecting some trembling bravado into his voice. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

"No one," Tom said. "It's a free country, so do what you want. No one's stopping you. I just thought that someone of a supposedly noble house would have the manners to engage in less disgraceful behavior than childish mimicry and squabbles. But of course _you're _too refined for something as petty as that, right?"

"Of course!" Lestrange retorted without thinking, and then realized that he had just walked straight into Tom's verbal trap a second too late. Now he was bound by verbal contract to either stop bullying people, or otherwise accept that he was little more than a petulant child not deserving of his birth title.

_**Ooh, big words! That ought to do it. Nice touch with the Hobson's choice, by the way.**_

Lestrange gave him a funny look, like he didn't know what to do with Tom. Tom _had _tricked him, but he hadn't insulted or offended him. He had simply given the other boy an ultimatum – be mature, or dishonor his own family name and pureblood status – in the most polite and subtle way possible. No one was hurt, and no one was humiliated – or no one _would _be humiliated if Lestrange behaved.

In the end he simply accepted Tom's presence, and regarded him as a respectable person. Not quite a friend, but definitely not an enemy. He had no grounds for hating Tom, and no reason to enact any petty revenge or carry any grudges. Tom had successfully kept him as a potential ally without offending any of his current ones.

It was so much easier to, ah, _persuade _someone if you were on civil terms with them.

Now, if Lestrange had been a bit older, a bit more worldly, then he would have realized that Tom _had_, in actuality, humiliated him, and was a threat to be disposed of immediately. Tom had, after all, called him out in front of a bunch of his peers, and unfairly maneuvered him into accepting a one-sided treaty. In effect, he had undermined Lestrange's status as the dominant fish in this small pond, and now whatever advantage the boy would have had as the firstborn of a prominent Wizarding family had flown out the window. The other first-years were now looking to Tom as their leader – a self-assured, but fair individual, who didn't depend on force but wasn't afraid to use it to defend himself. Kind and trustworthy, but also powerful. Definitely a better choice than Lestrange, who had seemed to be the only option for top dog before.

If Lestrange had been born even a year earlier or later, he might have been able to garner the same influence as the other pureblood heirs – Orion Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and so on. But it was not to be, because Tom Riddle oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore, and Tom Riddle _knew _that he oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore (even if he pretended to be humble and denied that he was any more likeable than anyone else), and Tom Riddle wasn't afraid to _use _all of this excess charisma to his own advantage.

An adult would have recognized this political tactic for what it was, maybe. But Lestrange was only eleven, and everyone else around them was also only eleven, and so the subtlety of Tom's actions flew way over their heads. None of them were consciously thinking about the implications of their actions. They weren't actively picking sides. All they knew was that a fight had started, and Tom had diffused the situation before it could escalate, all without hurting anyone's feelings.

That was enough for them to abandon Lestrange for Tom without a second thought, and none of them even knew that their allegiances had changed.

Jerry was laughing his socks off.

_**And we haven't even been Sorted yet. This just keeps getting better and better.**_

* * *

><p>AN: I know I have the dates mixed up. I think McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Orion Black are all younger than Voldemort, slightly? (Harry Potter wikia says they were born in the 1930s or so.) Oh, well. Whatever. They'd make interesting "friends" anyway.

Edmond Lestrange is named after the actor who played Lestrange, Tom Riddle's classmate, from Slughorn's memory in the HBP movie.


	5. Chapter 5

WARNING: You know what? I'm just going to put this at the beginning of every chapter. Contrary to how Tom and Jerry behave, I don't actually want to offend any readers. It would make me sad if you stopped reading just because you think I'm going too far.

* * *

><p><strong>BONUS #1: It's Quiz Time!<strong>

_Hosted by boomvroomshroom, Tom, and Jerry_

_And apologies to Stanley Bing, author of What Would Machiavelli Do? and Sun Tzu Was a Sissy_

_(Thanks for my first 100 reviews, guys!)_

**DO YOU HAVE THE RIGHT MINDSET TO BECOME AN EVIL OVERLORD?**

ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS AND FIND OUT!

**Question 1: **I would be satisfied with…

a. A million dollars.

b. A billion dollars.

c. A gazillion dollars.

d. I have no idea, but I'm not satisfied _now_.

**Question 2:** If I bought a new yacht, it would be…

a. A wonderful, perfect little jewel.

b. Absolutely massive.

c. The biggest goddamned yacht in the whole entire world.

d. I have no idea, but it would be better than _yours_.

**Question 3:** Which House is the best House?

a. Gryffindor.

b. Ravenclaw.

c. Slytherin.

d. Mine.

**Question 4:** If a genie gave you one wish, what would you wish for? (And standard rules apply: no asking for immortality, reviving the dead, making people fall in love with you, or more wishes.)

a. Money.

b. Power.

c. Intelligence.

d. What kind of genie only gives people one wish? I want a less shitty genie.

**Question 5:** Your final meal for death row?

a. Lobster.

b. Rich People Pate de French Thing.

c. Every dish on the planet.

d. You give people final meals? I just shoot them.

**Question 6:** Oh, no! There is a child prophesized to bring about your doom! Quick – what do you do?

a. Deal with him/her when he/she is actually an apparent, visible problem.

b. Send someone out to kill him/her, preferably you most trusted lieutenant or right-hand person.

c. Kill the baby personally, burn his/her corpse just to make sure, and kill all family/friends of any relation to said child for good measure.

d. GUARDS! Bring me my Time-Turner and my trusty rusty coathanger.

**Question 7: **Oh, _god_ no! Death is knocking at your doorstep! Quick – what do you do?

a. Roll over pitifully and die.

b. Cry, beg, and plead for your life.

c. Lie and pretend that he's at the wrong doorstep and that he actually wants your neighbor.

d. _I_ AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.

**Question 8:** My ideal form of law and government is…

a. An aristocracy.

b. A monarchy.

c. A fascist military-industrial complex dictatorship state.

d. What are laws?

**Question 9:** I believe that other people should…

a. Get out of my way when I'm walking.

b. Bow and worship me wherever I go.

c. Lay down in my path, so I may walk on top of them.

d. There are other people?

**Question 10:** Who is your role model?

a. Josef Stalin.

b. Genghis Khan.

c. Myself.

d. You're an imbecile.

**Question 11: **What is your greatest fear?

a. My mother.

b. My death.

c. I fear nothing! NOTHING, you hear me?

d. This is getting boring. Get out.

**Question 12: **Who is the most important person in your life?

a. Me.

b. Me.

c. ME.

d. What the hell are you still doing here?

**Question 13:** By the end of the day, I will have…

a. Had lunch with the President/Queen/Czar Putin.

b. Been on the front page of _Forbes_.

c. Bought out, assassinated, or destroyed my greatest competitor.

d. Fuck you, asshole.

**Question 13 1/2: **Any last words?

a. Why, ye - MMMMPFFHHHH!

* * *

><p><em>"142. 'Divide and conquer' only works as long as the conquered don't know who's dividing them."<em>

By the time the great oak doors to the Great Hall finally opened, and Professor Dumbledore made his appearance to welcome the first-years to the start-of-term feast, the group of rowdy young children was deceptively quiet.

"No arguments this year?" his eyes twinkled. "I'm surprised. Normally, all of the troublemakers would have shown themselves by now. Ah, well. We can have thanks for small mercies. The Bloody Baron seems to have done a good job silencing Peeves this year."

Tom was half-afraid that some loudmouth would pipe up about that last bout of political savvy, but luckily, all children are the same in that they never speak about anything they consciously know will get them in trouble. So all of them stood there, wide-eyed and smiling, acting like they were perfect little angels instead of the immature little hellions of thirty seconds ago.

It was then that Tom realized that Ogg probably had been instructed to leave them alone on purpose, and that the teachers of Hogwarts had been using this tactic for years, to figure out just exactly which students they had to watch for. Leave a bunch of impressionable and nervous children inside a room without any adult supervision or some other form of central authority, and watch society break down. All it took was one person. Sometimes, it was a prankster, who told the others excessive rumors about life at Hogwarts that they had heard from older relatives. And sometimes, they were kids like Lestrange, who tried to assert dominance by weeding out the weaklings and picking on them to show their power. The former group were mostly harmless and could be expected to mature; the latter needed to be watched and toned down slightly.

Not that it did much good, since the arrogant upstarts were always sent home every summer for their parents to build up their misplaced ego again.

"Well?" Professor Dumbledore asked, gesturing to the inside of the Great Hall. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

So the ragtag gaggle of youngsters eventually managed to sort themselves out and slowly walked down the center of the Great Hall, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Above them, the roof had been charmed to look like the night sky – not transparent, but rather, transmitting the image.

_**Television, **_Jerry murmured. _**This might be useful.**_

"When I call your name," Professor Dumbledore announced, "please step forward. There are four Houses, starting from your right, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. They are all equally good, and will help you succeed wherever you choose to go."

_**All houses are equal. But some houses are more equal than others. **_

_And yet Hufflepuff seems to be just as lively as the other three._

_**Well, the world needs more Hufflepuffs. **_

_Because nice people are easier to control than brave, smart, or sneaky people?_

_**Shut up and pay attention.**_

Tom really didn't care about any of the others, but he did make an effort to pay attention to the people he had distinguished early on as future important people. Flitwick, Filius sat there for about five minutes before the Hat finally decided on Ravenclaw. Lestrange, Edmond went to Slytherin after about half a second. McGonagall, Minerva, like Filius, also sat there for a rather long time before the Hat sent her to Gryffindor instead.

Well, at least he now had anchors in two Houses and a half-anchor in a third. If Pomona went to Hufflepuff, that would be very convenient indeed.

"Riddle, Tom!"

He could see Lestrange's nose suddenly turn upwards at the sound of his very Muggle name.

_**Well, screw you too, Lestrange. **_

_What now?_

_**We remind him of our dominance at the next closest opportunity, that's what, **_Jerry snarked. _**Same way as before. Oh, and "accidentally" drop that your middle name is Marvolo, too. **_**That **_**is obviously wizard.**_

Tom made sure to give Professor Dumbledore a shy smile, which the man happily returned, before gracefully sitting down on the stool and waiting for the Hat to be dropped. His face painted a picture of utmost composure. No fidgeting, no nervousness, no anticipation – just a stone, cold, marble coolness. Out of the corner of his eyes, right before the cloth slipped over his eyes, he could see an approving frown forming on the faces of some of the older, more politically trained Slytherin purebloods, and a scowl on Lestrange's face.

Hm. Problematic. But not completely unresolvable.

_**Pay attention! **_Jerry snapped.

_NOW, WHAT'S THIS?_

Great. _Three _voices in his head. This day just kept getting better and better.

_Please ignore him, Mr. Hat, _Tom replied. _He's a disassociative personality. Anyway, I love books and reading and learning, so will you put me into Ravenclaw?_

There was silence. And then:

_HAH! HAH! A HA HA HA HAH! _

_What's so funny?_

_YOU WANT TO GO INTO RAVENCLAW, BOY? NO, THERE IS ONLY ONE SPOT FOR YOU –_

_**Wait wait wait wait hold on Hat you can't do this to us! Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, anywhere but Slytherin!**_

_YOU WOULD EAT THE GRYFFINDORS ALIVE, BOY, LET ALONE RAVENCLAW OR HUFFLEPUFF, AND YOU REFUSE SLYTHERIN?_

_Come on, we're not _that _bad…yet._

_**Listen to him, Hat. We know what's best for ourselves.**_

_SOMETIMES I PUT CHILDREN IN A HOUSE WHERE THEY THINK THEY DO NOT BELONG FOR THEIR OWN GOOD. BUT IN THIS CASE YOU _KNOW_ YOU BELONG IN SLYTHERIN AND ARE TRYING TO PERSUADE ME OTHERWISE. THIS IS NO LONGER A QUESTION OF THE GOOD OF THE STUDENT; IT IS A QUESTION OF THE GOOD OF THE WORLD. _

_Hey, if you think I'm evil, then why don't you put me in a house that isn't evil? You know, good influences and all that. _

_THAT ONLY WORKS FOR CHILDREN WHO AREN'T ALREADY PLANNING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN. IN THIS CASE NOT EVEN A CHANGE OF HOUSE WOULD DETER YOU FROM YOUR AMBITIONS._

_I promise I won't be that rotten apple that spoils the barrel._

_**Come on, Hat! Put us in Ravenclaw! Pleeeeease? Please please please please please? You know how Slytherins are. We're SO Muggle! Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin!**_

_In all seriousness, though, I don't think Salazar Slytherin would be very appreciative of our enthusiasm for Muggle technology. It would be a very wise decision to put us in Ravenclaw, where our skills would be put to better use. Otberwise, the Slytherins would implode._

_**If you really cared about the greater good, Hat, you should listen to us. See, the Slytherins live in dungeons, and when dungeons implode, the rest of the structure will come crashing down on top of it. It's basic physics, really.**_

_NICE TRY. BUT CONTRARY TO CURRENT TRENDS, NOT ALL DARK LORDS ARE MUGGLE-HATING BIGOTS BENT ON GENOCIDE. I MAY NOT ALWAYS RECOGNIZE EVIL WHEN I SEE IT, BUT YOU, YOUNG MAN, DON'T JUST TIP THE SCALE: YOU _INVERT _IT._

_**Oh, so just because we're evil, we absolutely **_**have **_**to go to Slytherin? That's racist!**_

_HOW IS THAT RACIST?_

_**OI! You were going to put Harry Potter in Slytherin, too, but he kept going "Not Slytherin" so you changed your mind! Why can't you do the same for us? **_

_Who's Harry Potter?_

_**I'm going to sue for discrimination!**_

_HARRY POTTER HAD THE PROPERTIES OF BOTH SLYTHERIN AND GRYFFINDOR. EITHER WOULD HAVE SUITED HIM WELL. _YOU, _ON THE OTHER HAND…_

_**Wait, what? He wasn't born until 1980.**_

_TIME DOES NOT RUN IN THE SAME WAY FOR –_

_**How does that even work?**_

_What about us?_

_YOU ARE KIDDING ME, RIGHT? THERE IS NO HOUSE THAT WOULD FIT YOU _BUT _SLYTHERIN!_

_**What do you mean? We could totally go to Ravenclaw! There's a lot of cunning politicians in the world, but I bet you haven't met one that memorized all his textbooks before school started for a very long time, have you?**_

_YOU ONLY DID THAT FOR YOUR OWN BENEFIT, NOT WISDOM. _

_Why do ancient artifacts have to be so annoyingly perceptive? _

_**I'm not done sassing you, Hat! Are you putting us in Slytherin just 'cause we're evil? Why can't Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors be Dark Lords, too? **_

_EVIL IMPLIES AMBITION AND CUNNING –_

_Evil can also mean ignorance and idiocy – but never mind that. It also takes a lot of intelligence, hard work, and guts to attempt such an arduous task. You could put us in any of the Houses. So what if I don't want to go to Slytherin? It's my choice, isn't it?_

_IT'S THE _REASON _YOU DON'T WANT TO GO TO SLYTHERIN THAT MAKES YOU THE PERFECT SLYTHERIN. _

_What does that have to do with anything?!_

_LIKE I SAID BEFORE – MOST PEOPLE PREFER, OR DON'T PREFER, A HOUSE, SIMPLY BECAUSE OF OPINION. THIS ISN'T A MATTER OF OPINION. IT'S FOR YOUR OWN MATERIAL ADVANTAGE. YOU REFUSE TO GO TO SLYTHERIN, NOT BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE RAVENCLAW WILL HELP YOU BECOME MORE INTELLIGENT, NOT BECAUSE YOU DISLIKE SLYTHERIN HOUSE, BUT BECAUSE _NOT_ BEING IN SLYTHERIN WILL _FURTHER_ YOUR OWN CUNNING._

_Isn't that the purpose of the Houses, though? To put a kid where he or she can succeed the best? That sounds like material advantage to me. Is that what the entire purpose of Slytherin House is? To put all the evil kids where we can keep track of them best?_

_**And besides, at this point most kids don't have "opinions"; they're just doing what their parents want. **_

_I think you're being very hypocritical, Hat. You won't listen to the well-reasoned arguments of a clearly logical person because of tradition, but you're willing to put a Hufflepuff in Gryffindor because their parents were and so brought them up to think that Gryffindor was best. _

_**Look, I don't understand why you think we're evil. I mean, apart from the "taking over the entire world" thing we're not doing anything **_**too **_**bad. Genocide certainly isn't on our list, and we're not stupid enough to rob the masses of the faceless poor to the point of desperation.**_

_Exactly. From your reasoning, Marie Antoinette would also be a Slytherin, and she was one of the stupidest people in the world._

_**So, Ravenclaw, if you please.**_

_ALL RIGHT, YOUNG MAN. YOU HAVE CONVINCED ME. _

_Yes!_

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was some polite clapping from the green table.

_Wait._

_**WHAT?**_

_BECAUSE NO STUDENT, AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN, HAS EVER SO ELOQUENTLY TRIED TO ARGUE FOR A DIFFERENT HOUSE. PERHAPS IF YOU HAD BEEN LESS PREPARED FOR WORLD DOMINATION, I MIGHT HAVE TAKEN YOUR CHOICE INTO ACCOUNT AS I DID FOR ALL THE OTHERS…_

_**THAT'S DISCRIMINATION!**_

_So if we didn't argue, we would have been put into Slytherin, but because we argued, you're putting us in Slytherin?_

_I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU WOULD EXPECT ANYTHING DIFFERENT. SURELY YOU MUST HAVE REALIZED THAT THIS WAS A LOST BATTLE FROM THE VERY START._

_**You know what, Hat?**_

_WHAT?_

_**You are the main source of this self-perpetuating civil war in the Wizarding World. Seriously. Why did the Founders ever think you were a good idea? All of the values of the four Houses – bravery, intelligence, ambition, and hard work – are important, and yet they've been reduced to petty rivalry, where if you possess one you cannot possess the others.**_

_You should have never existed._

_EXCUSE ME –_

_You're a worthless waste of space that never should have been born._

_**Useful for hiding stuff in, though. Like a fancy-ass sword.**_

_HOW DID YOU KNOW – YOU'RE THE _LEAST _GRYFFINDOR KID I'VE EVER MET –_

_**Wow. Way to be progressive. Must be nice, making a living stereotyping kids, huh?**_

_Ta-ta. _

…_Asshole._

_**Language, Tom. You're eleven.**_

_I also grew up on the streets of London. You don't think I wouldn't pick up a few things here or there?_

_**You did NOT grow up on the "streets."**_

_I had YOU, a young man who died before he had a spouse and young children to teach him how to curb his swearing._

_NOW SEE HERE –_

_That's what you get for not putting us in Ravenclaw like we wanted._

Professor Dumbledore lifted the Hat off of Tom's head and motioned for him to go sit down with the table that looked like it had been infested with leprechauns. It was like they didn't know how to remember dates, so they just wore green all year to avoid getting pinched on St. Patrick's Day.

Meanwhile, Tom was doing his best to do all the damage control that he could by giving both Minerva and Filius apologetic smiles, before giving Professor Dumbledore a jaunty wave and heading over to the Slytherin table to sit down. Maybe it _wasn't _the best idea to throw that pissy fit at the Sorting Hat. Oh, well. It was too late to back out now. From what Jerry said, the Hat was honor-bound/magically spelled to tell nobody about what it saw in the kids' minds, not even the teachers.

Tom certainly hoped Jerry was right, because they would be in a _lot _of trouble if he wasn't.

At least now all four of the "original" group were distributed evenly amongst the Houses, and it would be easier to access the wealth of the Slytherins.

Because there was just no way that some no-name Mudblood could be sorted into Slytherin House, right? Whoever this Tom Riddle was, he had to have something interesting about him. Half-bloods got Sorted into Slytherin House all the time, and as long as they were useful, their Muggle heritage could be overlooked. And from the rumors that were spreading about this rather resourceful young man who had taken out a boy two years older than him with the most rudimentary of spells, Tom Riddle was a very useful young man indeed.

Of course, they _didn't _know that he had more capability to be the one using _them _than the other way around.

"Welcome to Slytherin House," a tall, pale young man finally said. Blond hair. Yeah, that was probably Abraxas Malfoy.

"Thank you," Tom replied conservatively.

"I am Abraxas Malfoy, sixth-year Slytherin Prefect." Oh, Tom _so _called it. "If you need anything, feel free to find me. We Slytherins take care of our own."

He forgot to leave out "for a price" from that second sentence and "so you don't dishonor the House, because you'll regret it if you do" for the third, but that was okay because Tom knew to add them in. Any Slytherin worth his salt did.

"Of course. Thank you," Tom replied, just as guarded and politely as before.

"Our Head of House is Horace Slughorn. He teaches Potions here," Abraxas continued.

"A worthy subject," Tom smiled thinly. Said man was rotund to the point of spherical, and his moustache dripped over the sides of his face, giving him a rather walrus-like appearance. He didn't look much like the other Slytherins – they all seemed to fit in either the "slim noble heir who is here because of family political training", "ratty spoiled brat who _thinks _he belongs here but really isn't as smart as his parents should have hoped", "scrawny street rat who had to resort to other means for survival", or "thick, stupid lumps of flesh that were too lazy for Hufflepuff" prototypes.

Slughorn was fat, but in a jovial Santa Claus way, not like the dumb muscle types Tom saw at the table. He was also, from Tom's memories of the directory of power-holding families, one of the few true Purebloods left, but not a very significant family (in terms of money). Still, Horace Slughorn seemed to be a rather clever man, as, from Abraxas' continued descriptions of his infamous "Slug Club", he had cultivated plenty of connections without ever stepping into the limelight himself. There was no important person in the wizarding world whose pockets didn't have Horace Slughorn's hands in them _somehow_.

Now _there _was a Slytherin.

_**Quite unfortunately, he has little political clout. He uses his influence to get old students jobs and Christmas gifts. **_

"You and Edmond Lestrange seem to be getting along quite well," Malfoy commented loftily, interrupting his argument with Jerry. Tom shot a glance at Lestrange, who was glaring at him. Probably because Malfoy, current alpha dog/snake/whatever of Slytherin was showing _him_, some "insignificant" half-blood, more attention than him. Self-entitlement. Tom sniffed. Some things just never changed.

"Well, of course," Tom said sweetly, but also loudly enough for everyone else at the Slytherin table to hear. "We both agreed that it would be in the best interests of his reputation as the son of a noble Pureblood family to behave like a civilized human being." At this, Lestrange bristled, and returned sullenly to his meal.

"Oh?" Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow gracefully. He seemed quite impressed, but in a rather amused way. Mainly because Tom was still young, and his attempt at manipulation was quite obvious – to Malfoy, anyway. Lestrange might one day catch up, as he matured. For now, that little statement was enough.

"I like him," another young man said, also tall, slim, and refined, but dark-haired. "Orion Black, fifth-year Slytherin Prefect, at your service." Tom repressed a snort – like any of these guys were at anyone's service other than their own. "Also, my brothers, Cygnus and Alphard, and my cousin Dorea."

"The Blacks are quite a prolific family," Abraxas Malfoy put in. "Why, I can name five other cousins of his already graduated from Hogwarts, and they are all named after constellations and stars. A noble destiny, to dream of unreachable things."

"Of course, Malfoy," Orion (and here Tom had to start referring to them by first name or he'd never sort them all out) sneered. "I must say, the Malfoy family is a very noble one, too, though not so great in numbers."

Malfoy gave a little smile. "That is not to say our influence does not rival that of the Blacks…we simply _concentrate _it a little more. We prefer quality to quantity."

"Putting all your eggs in one basket, hmmm?" Orion asked. "What happens when you end up with neither?"

"Or dividing up the land every generation; whatever works," Malfoy retorted.

Tom pretended that the entire little spat was going way over his head, but on the inside, he and Jerry were cheering. _**Yes, yes, yes! The two most powerful families in Britain and they're going at each other like dogs and cats! Fight, my beauties; fight! **_

_And meanwhile, just keep playing them against each other… _

…_**I can imagine it now – Confund Lestrange or whomever to tell Orion that he heard Abraxas say that the Blacks were just as bad as the Weasleys, and then watch the chaos unfold…**_

_And then insert myself in the middle, so they both try to use me against each other, and all the while, I'm stealing the spoils of war from the casualties? _Tom quoted drily.

_**You know me too well. **_

_But what are we going to do about Professor Dumbledore? We got Sorted into Slytherin. Is that bad…?_

_**Not TOO bad – at least, not now. Slytherin House doesn't have a terrible reputation **_**yet**_** – currently we're just the house of future politicians and whatnot. Anyway, Dumbledore and Slughorn are old friends, and Slughorn's not evil.**_

_Just…opportunistic?_

_**Look, next time you talk to Dumbledore alone, mention how much you love Hogwarts and how amazing it is, and then drop some bullshit story.**_

_Like…?_

_**The Hat couldn't decide between any of the Houses, and so it asked you what you wanted to do in your future, so it could determine what House would best help you.**_

_And what do I tell him? That I want to be an Evil Overlord or something? You do realize that the Hat, ironically, put us here to "protect" the Ravenclaws and therefore throw a wrench into our plans? Now it'll be harder to access the Gryffindors…_

_**Improvising, Tom. Improvising. Minerva won't forget that you defended her from Lestrange, and a great deal of influential families in Gryffindor are also members of the Slug Club, **_Jerry reassured him. _**And actually, being in Slytherin helps us because we're closer to the top 10% of the Wizarding World, if you know what I mean.**_

_But being evil…?_

_**Slytherin House's reputation isn't too bad yet. It was mostly the fact that they supported Hitler – well, Wizard Hitler – and then lost…but Wizard Hitler isn't around yet so for now they're all just opportunistic kids that will become successful in the Ministry 75% of the time.**_

_Wizard Hitler…? You know what? Never mind. You'll probably say "futuristic reference" again. But still. What do we tell Professor Dumbledore? You said that he was smarter than most. Will he distrust us because of this? Because if he's an enemy, that might be a problem…_

_**Don't sweat it. He's also an open-minded man who loves giving second chances. You already made a good first impression on him. Back to what I was saying before: your dream for the future was to end poverty and war.**_

_Isn't that a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor thing?_

_**Tom, how realistic is that goal?**_

_Not very. It's impossible. People will always be fighting._

_**Exactly.**_

_I don't see it._

_**What an ambitious goal, hmmm?**_

_It's a stupid goal._

_**A Hufflepuff would say, "I want to help others," not "I want to end ALL poverty and war." It just isn't done. Something as large-scale as that requires ambition and planning. You can alleviate poverty in a soup kitchen, but it takes those men in the ivory towers to make any real difference. **_

_Will Dumbledore really see that?_

_**Oh, trust me, he will. And he'll see it even better if you pretend you still don't understand why you're a Slytherin, and simply accepted its decision. People are good at rationalizing things that they expect to see.**_

_You really think we've fooled him? From the way you always go on about him, he sounds like a scarily competent thinker._

_**Well, if we haven't, then there's no point trying to change his mind. **_

_And then what do we do? Off him?_

_**Meh, he's old. We'll wait for him to die.**_

_And how long will that take?_

_**Well, if he's still not dead by the time we come back from our post-graduation magical world tour, we'll just persuade his heart to quit on him with a lot of fried chicken.**_

_You're horrible._

_**Says the kid who likes torturing bunnies.**_

_I've _never_ tortured a rabbit!_

_**If I gave you one, and no one was watching, would you?**_

…

_**That's what I thought. **_

_I hate you, Jerry._

* * *

><p>AN: What did you get on the Evil Overlord quiz, and which question was your favorite?

More extras to come (I'll probably add them in every 100 reviews). They might not necessarily be quizzes, although they can be. If there is anything you want me to write in more detail, more quiz topics, or random unrelated scenes you'd like to see, be sure to tell me.

Note - this won't affect the regular chapters, so don't worry. I do plan out and write my story ahead of time, and keeping to the plan is what keeps me from updating every two seconds. A completely unrelated segment, or something that I've already written, can be whipped up in about an hour.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: There might be a politically incorrect joke down there somewhere. If you're easily offended, then piss off, because Tom Riddle has banned all easily butthurt people from the realm.

Just kidding. *3* Love ya, bitches!

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><p><em>"180. I will not disregard any brilliant plans or methods of operation on the basis that someone I dislike or consider inferior came up with it."<em>

Only a few minutes into the start-of-term feast and Tom had already managed to do some nearly irreparable damage.

Needless to say, he was extremely proud of himself.

Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black were both glaring at each other. Cygnus, Alphard, and Dorea Black alternated between glaring at Abraxas and sizing Tom up. Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's cronies, alternated between glaring at the Blacks and at their own dinners. Lestrange was glaring at Tom for stealing the attentions of both the Malfoys and the Blacks.

Tom, on the other hand, was smiling back disarmingly, which, to his utter amusement, _completely _threw him off.

Because Slytherins, apparently, were never allowed to smile, _ever_. Smirking and sneering, sure, but never smiling. It was as if being happy was a foreign concept to them. Which Tom found rather confusing, because even Evil Overlords had to remain upbeat _somehow_, didn't they? Being depressed all the time was definitely _not_ something you would want if you became immortal.

After that, Lestrange just looked hopelessly confused, as did the rest of the Slytherins, who had been too busy gossiping to notice that entire previous exchange, and Tom had to use all his willpower not to look up at everyone every time he took a drink, because he would certainly laugh, inhale some – whatever it was – pumpkin juice? – and choke.

Bad table manners in front of a bunch of snooty nobles made for bad PR among said nobles.

Luckily, Tom didn't inhale any of his drink that night, although he made sure Orion Black did. All it took was a slight invisible _push _with his magic so that the designated heir to the Black family tipped over his glass a little too far, performed simultaneously with a Sneezing Hex, and voila! His – whatever he was drinking – literally went spraying everywhere.

Well, everywhere all over Abraxas Malfoy.

And since no one could expect a first-year who never had a magical background to perform wandless magic perfectly on the first day at school (both of his hands, in clear view of everyone at the table, had been occupied with a fork and a knife at the time), Orion Black automatically assumed that Abraxas Malfoy had hexed him on purpose. Meanwhile, Abraxas Malfoy, whose pristine robes and hair had been completely ruined by this massive and unforgivable breach of manners, assumed that Orion Black had made _himself _sneeze to directly insult him (especially after the other, too mortified by his "own" clumsiness, refused to apologize). All of which only made the already present schism even greater than before.

One thing was for sure – by the time Tom graduated, the Blacks and the Malfoys would be feuding so hard that Tom Marvolo Riddle would seem like the least of their troubles. Key word, of course, being _seem_.

Naturally, _one _night of misdemeanors wasn't enough to _completely _sever the ties between the Malfoys and the Blacks. Sometime between the end of the feast and the trek between the Great Hall and the part of the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories lay, the two of them had ended up cooling down enough to call a temporary truce. They hadn't _forgiven _each other – no real Slytherin ever forgave or forgot – but the first day of classes started tomorrow and neither of them wanted to have to deal with all of this back-and-forth political muck so early in the year.

Tom would have to fix that.

For now, though, Tom was simply lying in bed, laying out the battle plans for the next seven years with Jerry. After all, 90% of an Evil Overlord's time was spent plotting (yes, even in sleep) – and that was one of the few stereotypes that Jerry actually considered useful.

_All right, so we know that I can't do anything until I've mastered mind control. And I guess magical disguises, too. And I guess it wouldn't hurt to learn some core curriculum spells ahead of schedule, like that rather helpful space-expansion charm thing and teleportation._

_**Well, technically, you're not allowed to formally learn teleportation until you're seventeen. It's one of the annoying ways they keep tabs on people here. But nothing's preventing you from making illegal Portkeys or whatever.**_

_Portkeys?_

_**Objects that help you teleport. They're annoying, though, because they only work between two points, whereas Apparition takes you anywhere. Only it's really easy to prevent people from apparating, but not using Portkeys, for some reason.**_

_Or we COULD just create a method of teleportation that no one has ever heard of before. Like portals. Or smoke. Or shadows. Or anchors – like, as long as you've been to a certain spot before and marked it, you can go back there any time you want. A – what did you call it? Portkeys, but an entire network of them, and they always work no matter how far away from them you are. And since it's a completely new thing, no one will know how to stop it. And we need to figure out how to clone ourselves, too, just so we'll always have _some _sort of alibi._

_**Slow down. One thing at a time. Right now, mind control is the most important thing on the list. Master mind control, and you master everyone that matters without ever having to lift a finger. Mind control and disguises are all you need to conquer the world, really.**_

_And immortality, too. Cliché, but you can't become an Evil Overlord if you're vulnerable to death or whatever else your enemies wish upon you._

_**Immortality is harder than mind control. Wizards already have very advanced mind control properties. Currently all the methods that help you attain immortality aren't worth it.**_

_Like…?_

_**Well, you could steal the Philosopher's Stone, or make one yourself, and drink the Elixir of Immortality. But it doesn't **_**make **_**you immortal. It just extends your life span. You essentially become dependent on it. And it doesn't protect you from injury, which, in this occupation, will be a more likely death for you than old age. The only other method that I know of requires human sacrifices and gradually drives you insane. **_

_Insanity. Not a good trait. This is so annoying…and next I'll suppose you'll tell me of "worse things than death like being tortured forever or having your soul sucked out by a Dementor"? _

_**Well, everything we do needs to have a backdoor that can only be used by us.**_

_That really is the only way?_

_**I suppose there's a third method, but it's ridiculously complicated and isn't necessarily confirmed to give you immortality – plus, it's not permanent. You basically collect these three things, but you're only "immortal" as long as you have those three things.**_

…_Meaning, if anyone ever takes one of those things from you, you're no longer immortal?_

_**Exactly.**_

_This is such a pain in the arse._

_**Yes. Yes, it is.**_

_Maybe I'll just add "dissolving into smoke" to our to-do list. That way, if we ever get caught by anyone, we can just explode in their faces. And I guess we should have at least six other backup plans, too, in case those pesky La Resistance fighters figure out some ingenious way to stop the smoke. _

_**Forget that right now. First, you need to go to sleep. Then, get your class schedule tomorrow so you know when all your free periods are and when the best time is for sneaking away without getting caught. **_

_You make it sound so easy._

_**When you break a big problem into little steps, it actually is. Right now, all we need is practice. **_

_Ugh. It's mind control. That's the hard part. It's the _one _thing that I haven't gotten control of! And of course I can't use living test subjects until I master it because I'll get caught, but I can't master it until I have test subjects. _

_**Not a problem. I know a way. Go to sleep.**_

_What about the immortality?_

_**We'll research that, too, alongside the mind control. But don't be surprised if it takes a lot longer to figure something out.**_

_Which is why we'll start now._

_**Exactly.**_

_Why don't we just focus all on the immortality and master the mind control later?_

_**You want to draw in your base while they're still young and stupid. And **_**you **_**are also – well, not stupid, but inexperienced. You'll make mistakes. Or we might find ourselves in an unplanned situation and not be able to improvise in time. It's imperative that you learn how to wipe someone's memories properly. You can't get caught this early in the game.**_

_Why can't we just kill everyone and be done for it?_

_**Because, you idiot, people will fight back.**_

_But ruling over a docile population is so boring!_

_**Well, if you're mind-controlling people, and want to spice things up, just remove the mind-control from one person and watch the chaos if you're that desperate!**_

_Oh, shut up, Jerry._

_**Right back at you, Tom.**_

Despite their ever-constant bickering, though, Tom and Jerry always could rely on one thing – they made the perfect team against an unfriendly third party. When they were alone, they _had _to take out their daily hidden frustrations on _someone _– Tom because he had to actively hide it, and Jerry because he couldn't talk to anyone else anyway even if he wanted to – leading to the origin of what Jerry liked to describe as their "verbally violent" cat-and-mouse style word battles. But otherwise, they were an inseparable team.

Literally.

The next morning, Jerry woke Tom up early as he always did (apparently the fact that he didn't have a physical body meant that his brain didn't have to recharge its chemicals, which meant that Jerry basically just didn't sleep). Jerry, of course, couldn't control Tom's body, but he _could _be very loud and annoying when he wanted to be. Tom was only lucky that Jerry tried his best to save that for when he was actually awake – while Tom slept, Jerry usually settled into a quiet corner to ponder life and do whatever he didn't want to verbally share with Tom.

And when he got bored of no longer having any human interaction, that was when he started jabbering away. Regardless of when the alarm was actually set.

Tom sometimes thought that Jerry did it on purpose, because Jerry's senses were just as linked to Tom's, and he _knew _Jerry could hear alarms just as well as Tom could.

But Tom was used to sleeping a little less than normal, anyways, and his body had adjusted accordingly, so he didn't fault Jerry _too _much for adding a few hours to his day. One of the advantages to being the earliest riser when you live with roomates is the fact that you get private bathroom privileges, as well as the satisfaction of smirking down at inferior beings. It's surprisingly condescending, to roll out of bed half-asleep with grime in your eyes, only to see someone else completely alert, dressed, and ready to go – it implies that you're lazier and less aware of your surroundings.

Also, since they were Evil Overlords, it was advisable to never fall asleep in a room where others were awake.

Just another way of asserting dominance.

There was a definite night curfew, but there wasn't any real limit to how early anyone could wake up. Before sunrise was rather sketchy, but seeing as many teachers and other adults woke up at around five, also (though not today; it was the first day back), no one should fault the little first-year for not knowing the rules.

Five A.M. wasn't _that _unreasonable. A bit on the extreme side, perhaps, but not unreasonable.

Tom _did _want to get back before too many other people woke up, though. Breakfast wasn't served until 8:00, since classes on the first day started at 9:00, so most people wouldn't wake up until around 7:00, give or take a quarter of an hour. Leaving Tom that much time to do all his exploring of the castle.

_Should I make myself invisible? Or will that be suspicious?_

_**Hmmm…tough call. The paintings might blab if they see something wrong…but on the other hand, if you don't get caught…**_

_I can sort of make myself invisible._

_**Go back into the bathroom and we'll see. We **_**know **_**we're there, so if we can't find ourselves, then people who aren't looking shouldn't be able to, either, as long as we don't bump into anything.**_

_All right._

It took about another hour of practice before Tom could _will _himself into very good camouflage, but it still wasn't that great. Invisibility, unfortunately, was one of those annoying skills that were ridiculously harder than making stuff float and grow and change into something else.

_**Whatever. It's not like you'll get into trouble. Just say that you're going exploring so that you won't get lost before classes start. **_

…_We don't even have our schedules yet, though._

_**Potions is always in the dungeons, Astronomy is always in the Astronomy tower, Herbology is always out by the greenhouses, and the paintings will tell you where the Transfiguration, Charms, History, and Defense classrooms are.**_

_Do they _really _make everyone take those same seven classes? I mean, I get the six on magic, but I read through the Astronomy curriculum. There's absolutely no application that you can't get in the Muggle world, except for naming your kids like the Purebloods do._

_**Yeah, well, it's not a bit of a stretch for a first-year to deduce what all his classes are from reading his book list, right?**_

So Tom left the Slytherin common room and started going on a tour of the castle. Most of the paintings were still asleep at this point, which sort of rendered their excuse of asking the paintings about where the classrooms were void, but that didn't bother Jerry. He just kept telling Tom to keep taking the staircases upwards, and walk with paranoia turned up to the max because, apparently, there were trick steps that moved randomly.

Disregarding the fact that this was a school full of kids, and a fall from that height could easily break someone's neck.

Tom eventually managed to get to the seventh floor without much trouble. To which he turned to Jerry and asked, _Okay…so why are we here? Unless you want to get a nice view of the grounds…_

_**Shh. Just turn a few corners until you find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.**_

_Why?_

_**Just do it. Oh, you'll like this. It's so – it's so **_**stupid **_**like everything else here, but in a cool way. Really. It's just like **_**magic**_**.**_

_If you insist…_

Eventually Tom managed to find said tapestry of the crazy old man from the illustration in A History of Magic and paused. _Found it. Now what? Oh, let me guess – secret door hidden behind the tapestry?_

_**Yes, actually, but you're staring at the wrong side of the hallway.**_

_Wait, what? That's a blank wall. There's nothing there…oh, wait. Is there some invisible door?_

_**Yeah. Now walk back and forth between this patch of blank wall three times thinking, well, anything. More specifically, something that you need.**_

_Well, I need to attain immortality in a way that DOESN'T drive me crazy and figure out a way to mind-control people, for starters._

_**Go ahead. Try it.**_

Tom frowned, but did as he was told, and wasn't even surprised anymore to see a door just randomly appear.

_And let me guess…it's there?_

_**Well, not quite, because that would be too easy, but it would still help.**_

So Tom entered the room, only to find books stacked all the way up to the ceiling, on everything currently known about immortality, mind control, and so on. And that was when Tom couldn't help but say out loud,

"Holy shit."

_**Language.**_

_Like YOU'RE one to talk._

_**You're eleven. I'm...well, I don't quite remember how old I am, but I'm over eighteen.**_

_You were a college student, right?_

**_...Yeah. Yes. I did go to college._**

_I thought I'm supposed to be older than you._

_***Magic!***_

The library the weird room had come up with was smaller than the entire Hogwarts library, of course, but not _that _much smaller. And, given that it was only on a few select topics, Tom was pretty sure that some of these books weren't actually available for public reference.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like he could stay here forever. He just wanted to get lost in this place and never leave again. No doubt he'd learn more here, alone, than sitting in class. Depressingly enough, the world wasn't conquered from the inside of a library and there were more important things to life than just furthering one's own intelligence. As Slytherin House had taught him on the very first night, connections were extremely important, too – and that required Tom to regularly step out into the daylight.

Which was annoying, since Tom hated people, but he could deal with that. As long as he didn't have to form _real _bonds with them, he could suffer through creating some fake ones.

_What is this? A magical reference library?_

_**It's the Room of Requirement. It gives you anything you need, within limits.**_

_And all I have to do is walk back and forth between this patch of wall thinking about what I want?_

_**Yep. Of course, it won't give you anything that's restricted use, like food, or hasn't been invented yet, but it will still do its best.**_

_Wow. That's…_

_**Yeah. I know.**_

_This is actually pretty amazing._

_**Yeah, well, snap out of it, Tom. I know these reference books all seem cool, but they won't help us much. This is just so you know that it's there. Next time we come, just ask for some place where we can practice magic in private, so no one else can walk in on us.**_

_Ah. I see._

_**Now I think it's about time we started heading back. Some of the paintings should be awake by now, so we can still use the excuse about not wanting to get lost on the first day.**_

_Sheesh. You'd think that after a thousand years, they'd think to make a map of this bloody place._

…

…

_Jerry?_

_**Oh. My. God. I am so stupid.**_

_What?_

**_THE MAP!_**

What _map? Oh, let me guess_…_Futuristic reference?_

_**Well, yeah. But one we can actually use. A map that shows everyone in Hogwarts and where they are…**_

_Where are we going to get that?_

_**We're going to **_**make **_**it.**_

_What? That sounds awfully complicated._

_**Four teenaged Gryffindor pranksters just a few years older than you were figured it out. **_

_WHAT?_

_**Yeah, I know. Stupid. But hey – the only hard part is actually drawing out the damn thing. Spelling it to latch onto everyone's magical signatures isn't a problem. Something on names given at birth being linked to souls and whatnot.**_

_That sounds a bit farfetched._

_**Indeed. But oh so useful.**_

_And I suppose we'll be making time for this somehow?_

_**It's very useful for sneaking around without getting caught.**_

_I guess you're right…_

_**Okay, so number one priority is learning invisibility and getting the map done. Then we'll be able to sneak around for our personal projects without getting caught.**_

_And after that is all the immortality and mind control?_

_**Well, of course.**_

_Great. Now can we leave now? We have to get back soon._

_**Yes, yes, go ahead.**_

If anyone had noticed that Tom was gone that morning, no one mentioned it, and neither was any other indication that the Sorting Hat had blabbed – Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn, and whoever else, all continued to regard him normally – or as normally as they could treat someone of his calibre. It was quickly clear that he was the class genius, along with Minerva.

Tom always made sure he was never any more than five points ahead of her, and occasionally allowed himself to dip below her in terms of grades, just to keep things realistic.

Evil Overlords aren't accountable to anyone, least of all report cards.

It wasn't as if Tom had any over-enthusiastic parents to push him, anyway.

Really, being in Slytherin wasn't as bad as he and Jerry had initially expected it to be, but he supposed that was because they hadn't experienced any Dark Wars or whatever for a very long time, so the mania had been dead for a while. Likewise, it seemed that so far, they were still on Professor Dumbledore's good side.

There was _one _thing he was particularly proud of, however, and that was his fame for having the _neatest _work in Hogwarts. This may or may not have been due to the fact that Tom had quickly given up the highly inefficient quills and parchment for Muggle pens, pencils, and standard printer paper so that he could finish his homework more quickly and spend his time doing more fruitful things, like expanding his follower base and practicing Confundus charms.

Professor Slughorn, bless his soul, had noticed the popularity of his new invention, and immediately set him up with the owner of Flourish and Blotts', and soon Tom's quills were _everywhere_.

And best of all, no one could accuse him of being some sort of greedy businessman for reselling cheap biros for several Galleons apiece because, well, _he _wasn't the one setting the prices. He had been handing them out to the people who asked for free before. (Well, not exactly _free_, because those who received gifts from Tom Riddle paid for them in loyalty and friendship, and, unfortunately, unknown to them, Tom Riddle wasn't the type of kid you would want to be a loyal friend to, if you valued your life.) That Flourish and Blotts was tacking on a price so that the Ministry of Magic could order the pens in bulk for their employees, and insisted on giving him a percentage of the profits, was hardly _his _fault, right?

He was just an _innocent, eleven-year-old orphan _who _happened to get lucky_ enough to go from completely penniless to having a modest Gringotts account with some spending money for books, tuition, and the like.

It was honestly nice having Professor Slughorn for a Head of House, and it wasn't just because Professor Slughorn was _Slytherin's _Head of House (since being in Slytherin automatically granted you certain privileges, like political immunity from Peeves, thanks to the Bloody Baron being their representative ghost – not that Tom needed any help in scaring the poltergeist off).

Professor Slughorn was just the _perfect _teacher – not because of what he taught, but because of just exactly what you could get away with under his watch. It wasn't that he was _stupid _– he definitely knew more than the average wizard by a good amount – and he wasn't naïve, either – but he was…Tom didn't know how to describe him, exactly. Professor Slughorn just liked to turn a blind eye to things. Which made him perfect for Slytherin House, because that meant that the more opportunistic students in Hogwarts were allowed to get away with far more things than the rest of their more "honest" peers.

That was because the Purebloods didn't _know _that they were Muggle items (and now that they were regular wizard items, refused to believe that the Muggles could have come up with something so ingenious first) and simply assumed that Tom was smart enough to invent self-inking, non-runny, erasable pens on his own. Hence the reason why they were using them without any qualms, too.

Professor Dumbledore seemed to find it more amusing than anything, and happily thanked Tom for reducing the number of blotches and smudges by 100% on everything he had to grade. After all, Professor Slughorn was a friend he trusted to be _good_, even if he didn't completely approve of the man's rather elitist habit of collecting human trophies, and helping a young student make his way off the charity list was a long leap from helping a future Dark Lord take power.

Or so he thought, anyway.

Yes, he and Professor Dumbledore were quickly becoming the best of friends. Mainly because Minerva always insisted on staying behind after every single damn class to ask questions about Transfiguration, and Tom had to stay with her because they were supposed to be friends, and also because he was still trying to figure out that stupid random rule about food, to no avail.

_I SWEAR to GOD, if one day in the future, we die of STARVATION, I will –_

_**Say…if you could increase the amount of food you have…**_

_What?_

_**Is autocannibalism an attractive idea to you? **_

_That's disgusting._

_**I hear humans taste like chicken.**_

_EVERYTHING tastes like chicken, according to you._

_**Nuh-uh. I told you that roast crickets taste like peanuts.**_

_Mmm-hmmm._

**_I'm serious! You should try it sometime._**

_Okay, Jerry. Whatever you say._


	7. Chapter 7

WARNING: You're reading about a mentally deranged eleven-year-old boy and his invisible friend trying to take over the world. Of course their views are going to be severely disjointed from the norm.

* * *

><p><strong>BONUS #2<strong>

_The Life of Jerry, Part 1_

You may call me Jerry. I had a name once. I had a life, too.

If you must know, that dumb story about getting hit by a truck?

I made it up. None of it's true.

Yeah, I'm a total liar. So sue me. "I got hit by a truck" is a much simpler explanation than the real thing. Often, people lie because the truth is so complicated that they're afraid people will think it's a lie. Anyway, I'm telling you the truth now, aren't I?

Look - I hate telling this story, because it's stupid, but...fine. I actually died in a fire. I have occasional bouts of insomnia – well, had – and that night I had taken sleeping pills. Guess which night that one idiot from the floor below chose to forget to put out his cigarette like I knew he would?

I know, right? Stupid. I should have moved out, but I just kept putting it off. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20. Not that getting hit by a truck is any better, I suppose, but it was the first thing I could come up with that was reasonably believable. Besides, I'd rather get run over in broad daylight than just suffocate in my sleep. It's much faster.

What? "Are sleeping pills really _that _strong?" Okay, fine! You got me! My sleeping pills were...oh, all right! Fine! They're not actually sleeping pills! I was a drug addict, okay? No, I'm not going to tell you what _type _of drugs they were. But the part about me being too high to react to a freaking fire is true.

Yeah, drugs are a bad idea, kids. And dying isn't so fun, either. Trust me. I've been there.

* * *

><p><em>"170. I will be an equal-opportunity despot and make sure that terror and oppression is distributed fairly, not just against one particular group that will form the core of a rebellion."<em>

In the end, though, Tom couldn't really complain, because it had been a perfect gateway for Jerry's idea of the whole "I want world peace" sob story. (Wanting world peace wasn't something you randomly bragged about in regular conversation – these sorts of things had to have the right hooks to make it look like it came out of the blue. Certain things seem much more powerful being mentioned "by accident".)

"I'm glad to see my students so excited about learning," Professor Dumbledore would always tell them, his eyes twinkling.

"This is all just so exciting," Minerva gushed, and Tom noticed that she was subconsciously trying to make her accent less heavy in response to Lestrange's jibe on their first day. "Oh, and is that a phoenix, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes. This is Fawkes, my familiar. He normally stays in my office, but I thought I'd let him out today."

"He's so beautiful…"

Tom made sure to shut off his ears when he noticed the phoenix opening its mouth.

_What happens if it starts singing, and we don't see it in time?_

_**I don't know.**_

_I'm actually curious. What does that thing sound like?_

_**You want to risk it while Dumbledore's here?**_

_I could blame it on my orphan upbringing._

_**But you're too goody two-shoes…it'll shake your credibility…**_

_But I'm curious, dammit._

_**You're insufferable.**_

_And you aren't?_

_**True.**_

"Tom? Tom?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I got lost for a moment," Tom said sheepishly, his hearing returned to him.

"Wasn't that such a wonderful song, Tom?" Minerva asked.

"Yes. It was brilliant."

_Damn, I missed it!_

_**Well, if you're really curious to see how you'll be affected, go and talk to Fawkes when Professor Dumbledore isn't looking. You have the map for a reason.**_

_Can Fawkes blab on us?_

_**I don't know. Ask.**_

"I love everything about this place!..." Minerva was still saying.

"I see. And you, Tom? Hogwarts is suiting you well, I hope? Certainly it is much different from the schooling you have received thus far."

"I'm adjusting quite well; thank you for asking, Professor. Say, I was wondering, can you speak Phoenix? Or are there any ways of communicating with your familiar?"

"Not an informational bond, but an emotional bond. Phoenixes in particular can tell what their companions' feelings are, and know exactly what to do to help them in a bad situation. But if I left the classroom, for example, then he wouldn't be able to tell me who wasn't doing their work."

"Well, that's just silly that they're not working!" Minerva sniffed. "Why are they even at school, then?"

"Some people just don't see the purpose," Tom shrugged. "But that's quite all right. Maybe they don't work very well in classroom settings. Your class is very hands-on, though, so that isn't a problem for us."

"In terms of not completing your assignments, you two are the least concerning out of all my students," Professor Dumbledore chuckled.

_**Yes! Crisis averted!**_

_I still wanted to see how I'd hold up against phoenix song, though. Hmmm…_

Eventually the conversations devolved into things like future careers, mostly at Minerva's steering. That girl was just crazy about everything. She was already planning for her final exams, and the midterms hadn't even come yet!

_**And **_**we're **_**planning decades ahead for when we finally conquer the world. But that's hardly worth mentioning, right?**_

_But we're not stressing out about it! At this rate she'll be cramming for her N.E.W.T.s before third year! Why does she even think that's necessary? It's _school_. It caters to the _middle _of the bell curve. We're so many standard deviations above the mean it hardly even matters –_

_**Glad to know we learned statistics from the same sources.**_

_Oh, shut it, Jerry._

_**You seem rather overly concerned about Minerva's business.**_

_What has that got to do with anything?_

Minerva's dream for the future was easy – she wanted to be a teacher from the very start. And Gryffindor House was fine, thank you. A little boisterous for her tastes – Tom noticed that unlike all the other Gryffindors, Minerva actually had a very strict, conservative, self-disciplined approach to public behavior – but nice.

That wasn't a problem – in fact, it only made Tom's standout behavior from Slytherin House less unusual.

He had always _belonged _with the Slytherins, and was as Slytherin as Minerva was Gryffindor (in those seriously stereotypical ways in which House names became adjectives, as if that was all that encompassed a person). And yet he wasn't like the other Slytherins. Which seemed to be a contradiction – but really just showed Tom how narrow-minded the House system had made people. Really, qualities like "brave" or "ambitious" or "smart" or "loyal" could be taken so many different ways that the methods in which one could embody those qualities were endless. And yet the House system had reduced them all to stereotypes.

Smart=bookworm. Brave=idiot. Ambitious=evil. Loyal=worthless.

Could not the most vicious of soldiers, who ripped out their enemies' bowels on the battlefield without second thought, also be loyal – to their nation, to their Queen or King or Czar or whatever President was across the sea now? Apparently, not with those marshmallows. Could the quietest "no" in the world also be in Gryffindor? Nope, because all of them were loud and rude. Did "smart" have to mean buried in books all day? Discoveries weren't made just by studying from predetermined materials. And who said all ambitions involved climbing the staircase to power in the political stage? (While Tom certainly meant to step on people on his way to the top, he didn't care so much about those silly Purebloods' subtle insults over wine and caviar.)

The trouble was, those people _were _in those Houses. They were just never noticed underneath the banner, and so they ended up becoming one with the rest of the masses.

Until Tom came along and turned Slytherin House upside-down. Because, unlike the others, he _knew _he was different and went out of his way to make sure people knew it. Subtly, of course.

In any event, with Minerva out of the way, Professor Dumbledore had asked him next how he liked Hogwarts and his new House so far, what he wanted to do with himself, yadda yadda yadda.

"My experience with the Sorting Hat was really interesting. He – she – it – was very pleasant company, actually. I almost didn't want to get off the stool," Tom lied through his teeth.

Minerva smiled. "I know. I sat on there for so long; the Hat just kept thinking and thinking. I wonder how the Founders made somethin' like that. It must be very powerful magic!"

"Hogwarts is full of secrets," Professor Dumbledore said sagely. "I should consider myself lucky if I knew even half of them."

"Me, too."

"Aye, it truly is a majestic place," Minerva grinned. "Sometimes I wish I could change houses when I liked, just so I might get to visit all of Hogwarts. I almost got put into Ravenclaw with Filius, but at the last moment I decided that I needed to be brave more than I needed to study. Not that studying isn't very important, too."

She looked at Tom expectantly, like she wanted him to share his own conversation with the Hat, too. Which Tom did. Not that he'd tell the truth, of course.

"Funny story, actually – the Sorting Hat had a bunch of trouble with me, too."

"Oh, yes, I noticed you sat under there for a pretty long time."

"We also started out in Ravenclaw, but started discussing all of the Houses, and ended up being even less sure of where I was supposed to go than at the start."

"Now that is ironic," Professor Dumbledore sipped his tea. "But quite amusing. Do go on, Tom. How did you finally decide?"

And here came the magical insert. "Well, finally, the Sorting Hat decided to ask me what I thought defined a great man."

"And how did you answer?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Tom shrank down shyly and gave Professor Dumbledore his most innocent, cheerful, hopeful, naïve smile. "It took me a while to arrive at the answer, but I finally thought I had the right one. 'A good man is defined by his kindness, but a _great _man is defined by his _dreams_.'"

There was a silent pause in the room.

God, there was so much revolting sweetness in that one action Tom could have sworn he was getting diabetes. Either that, or he had just sprouted a set of ovaries.

But the show had to continue, so, following this statement, Tom willed his cheeks to color slightly (being able to cry and blush on command were the two most useful skills in the average poor little orphan's toolbox since forever) and looked down even further, all the while pressing the tips of his index fingers together.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore broke out into a genuine smile and lifted his teacup.

"A very profound statement, for someone so young."

_**Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeecccccccchhhhhhhhhh…**_

"I guess the Hat just interpreted my statement to mean ambition, so…" here Tom inserted a nervous chuckle, "Slytherin it was!"

_SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP..._

"Well, I'm glad that you're in Slytherin. That's each of us in each of the Houses!" Minerva put in cheerfully. "I really admire the Four Founders. I hope we can be like them someday."

"Or better!" Tom included, making sure to stay in character.

It was pretty hilarious, how Dumbledore had had the whole "concerned teacher" display amped up to eleven. Even more so, when Tom had responded so perfectly naively ("I wasn't sure at first, but I seriously think that my world peace idea will catch on greatly with the Slytherins. They're so receptive and there's quite a bit of heirs to influential families who said they'd support me when the time came!") that he had ended up walking away from that meeting with advice on the true nature of the nasty politics that came with the snakes.

"Be careful, Tom. You'll understand soon that not everyone means what they say before you. And you must be careful not to lose sight of your surroundings when chasing said dream."

**_If only that _was _our dream. Then his "advice" might have some merit._**

_I hate him. Why do long-bearded wizards always have to be so perceptive? It makes my job so inconvenient._

"Ending all conflict is a big dream, don't you think, Tom?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, not_ all _conflict," Tom said quickly. "People _have _to argue to maintain healthy relationships. It just means that we can still have diversity in opinion. If there was no conflict, we'd all just be mindless minions, and that's not good. I just want to spread more _awareness _around the world so that people can be more accepting of others' ideas. That way, people will sit down and talk things over like mature adults instead of picking up wands and guns every time there's a disagreement."

"I hope you will remember that, when you are actually starting this journey," Professor Dumbledore said, suddenly tired.

"If men from a century ago can start bloodless revolutions at podiums and ballot boxes, then so can I," Tom declared.

"I will hold you to that."

"I think that it's a very noble goal," Minerva smiled at him, her cheeks slightly red.

_**Oh, god, it's already starting. Damn it! That's not fair! You're only eleven!**_

_What's not fair?_

But Jerry refused to answer, and retreated to a corner of Tom's mind to sulk.

So Tom just shrugged and continued with the conversation, parroting some of Jerry's complaints from years past. "Well, _someone _has got to start raising awareness. And why can't it be me? The world's getting better, but there's lots of problems that still need to be addressed. Did you know that in the Muggle world, blacks are _still _being discriminated against, hundreds of years after slavery was finally made illegal? And even though women legally have a political say, not very many of them hold office or have opportunities for social mobility, either." (Here Minerva became especially starry-eyed.) "…and I hear that hate crimes are occurring in Germany right now against all sorts of groups, like Jews and Gypsies and Catholics and political dissidents and other sorts just for being _different…_" (Here Professor Dumbledore suddenly became even more interested, too) "…and even the Wizarding World has its problems. A very small percentage of the Wizarding World – the old Pureblood families – hold the majority of wealth and power, and they exclude the newcomers, like the Muggleborns, from all of that because of their prejudice…"

_**You are so full of hot air that the Hindenburg would be jealous.**_

_Oh, shut up, Jerry._

Fawkes did not leave Professor Dumbledore's office again, however, and Tom didn't want to risk breaking into a teacher's private quarters, so he simply had to deal with not knowing what a phoenix song sounded like. It was frustrating, but at least he had time to do other things.

Endearing himself to the general public, for example, was so easy that it wasn't even funny. It wasn't long before Tom became that one kid who was just completely above reproach, from both his teachers and his peers. Except for that bullied bully from the train, there wasn't anyone who had anything to say against Tom's _character_. He wasn't the type of "popular kid" who climbed to the top by sticking everyone else in the bottom of the caste system. He was just _sort of there_, and everyone who knew him could say that he was a nice and smart person.

Of course, no one ever noticed that he _always _had the uncanny knack to be there _right _when he was needed.

Really, it was like he could appear out of nowhere, sometimes.

Ah, invisibility. How he loved it.

Learning Disillusionment and other invisibility-related charms, courtesy of the Room of Requirement, had been surprisingly not as hard as Tom had initially expected. Neither were magical disguises, once Tom figured out how to hold the facial transfiguration for an extended period of time. Both were simple enough skills that Tom had been able to master within about a day once he had found the proper library books. (As innovative as Jerry was, he had very little actual information about the nature of magic itself – leading Tom to believe that he had been a Muggle of some sort with a magical relative.)

It turned out that all that Tom really needed was not extra power or control, but attention to detail, and that had been fixed easily enough. Tom had always been an observant child, for the sake of survival; he simply hadn't known what he had to look for in the first place. Most of the books on magic were horribly outdated (there was a reason why textbooks in normal schools are updated at least once every decade – not once every century), but the principles remained the same. Sure, Tom could throw out the parts about incantations, because they didn't help him at all, but the visualization processes associated with the incantations worked wonders.

So now Tom could sneak around properly without too much trouble. Tom wasn't sure if it was enough to fool Professor Dumbledore – after all, just because they were camoflagued, and had learned to hide giveaways like footsteps and shadows, didn't meant that they had their presences hidden completely. Fooling the paintings and his fellow students were the important thing – Tom could do that easily. The teachers would be more difficult to trick, but they couldn't be around all the time.

Within Slytherin House, however, it was quickly clear that Tom was somewhat of an anomaly.

First, was the fact that he was completely willing to cross House lines. He regularly talked to the Gryffindors, and studied with the Ravenclaws, and helped out the Hufflepuffs. Sometimes he even volunteered himself to sit next to struggling students without being prompted.

One of the oddest things of all about Tom Riddle was that, unlike the rest of his House, he was notorious for being humble and willing to help others without ever asking for something in return – most other Slytherins never extended any hand of assistance unless the person asking was from another major Pureblood family who could give them something in return, and even then it was a hit-or-miss on whether or not they'd insult you and talk down at you for not knowing, first.

As a result, Tom Riddle became the most famous of the Slytherins despite being the biggest "nobody" out of all of them, to his and Jerry's great pleasure.

"Need help?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Hmmm…I think I see what your problem is. Try doing this instead."

"Wow! It's working! Sort of. Thanks, Riddle."

"No problem. I had a lot of trouble with that part myself. This stuff is really advanced, you know."

"Really?"

"Well, Hogwarts is the best magical school in the world for a reason, you know. Our curriculum is much more fast-paced than other schools'."

"Whoa."

"So don't feel bad. You might be having a little bit of trouble, but that's totally normal. We're way ahead of the kids in – India, for example."

Which was a complete lie, because while Muggle India had been colonized by the British for over a century, Magical India had remained completely independent for a reason. But seeing as Magical Britain was so xenophobic anyway (and Tom had looked for hours and found not a single book on the state of international education – just a few trade agreements and Quidditch references here and there) he doubted that anyone would even have the sense to question that statement.

Even Minerva and Filius, the two most intelligent students in Hogwarts after him (by a long shot – though he never let them know it), and Pomona, who was not quite as intelligent but worked hard to keep up all the same, liked to delude themselves into thinking that Hogwarts was the greatest school in the world. Never mind that there were probably establishments in East Asia, the Middle East, India, and Africa that were much older. Hogwarts was founded in the 900s A.D., maybe. The Caliphates of the Middle East, the Sub-Saharan kingdoms, the East Asian dynasties, and the Meso- and South American empires had been around for hundreds of years before that. And all of them had had a much more magic-friendly culture than the Europeans, who seemed to like to go around burning, hanging, and drowning anything that wasn't nice and Christian.

After all, Europe hadn't come up with the concept of actual schools until a very, very long time after the rest of the modern world. Plenty of people seemed to forget that following the collapse of the Roman Empire, Europe was the trashiest continent on Earth. No doubt the prospering Muslim empires of that time would have figured out how to set up universities before the backwards, oppressive medieval Europeans did.

But of course no one wanted to hear about that, least of all the prideful and traditionalist Slytherin House.

So Tom kept his mouth shut and only said things that people wanted to hear.

Because if he _actually _spoke his mind, he'd probably be tossed out of the window of the Astronomy Tower.

Jerry was a very, very, very bad influence. In the best way possible.

Ironically enough, there wasn't a single House in Hogwarts that did not like Tom Riddle in some way, shape, or form – except Slytherin House. But they didn't really like anybody. They _did_ respect him for his talent and growing influence – even more so because Professor Slughorn, their Head of House, made sure to point it out _every single damn time _Tom did something right (and according to the Law of the Transitive Chain of Respect, since they respected Slughorn, and Slughorn respected Tom, they, too gave Tom a bit of respect).

Yes, _respect _was a big fat deal in Slytherin House, because god forbid they ever had friends.

But gaining ground in Slytherin – his own house – was a lot more difficult than in any other house. He had meshed with the Ravenclaws right away, and caught on with all of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs with the same ease (except for that one kid he had humiliated on the train, but he didn't count). Slytherin, on the other hand…maybe it was a good thing after all that the Hat had put him in this house than in Ravenclaw. It would have been even more ridiculously difficult to get through to the Slytherins if he had been from an outside House instead of right within the heart of things.

Ironically, in its attempt at preventing Tom from gaining too much ground, it had done the exact opposite and dumped him right in the lap of power.

Perhaps the Hat had planned for him to run into trouble among his own housemates, all the while alienating the other 75% of Hogwarts. The first ended up being only partially true, and the second not at all.

It was all because of his family, or lack thereof, really – which, funnily enough, was apparently the most important thing inside Slytherin House despite its core emphasis on ambition, cunning, and individuality. He definitely had _some _sort of magical heritage, given his ridiculous middle name, but no one knew what it was. The rest of the half-bloods, at least, could name their magical parent, and usually, said parent was the disgraced child of a prominent pureblood family, or at least had some connection to one of the larger, not quite fully magical, families.

Tom didn't even have any proof that his mother was the magical one (although it was quite clear to the logical mind, seeing as she was the one who _named _him). All he had was raw talent, and he put it to use. Not so much to make the purebloods jealous, but enough for them to realize that he wasn't at the top of the class just because he did all of his homework and knew what the right answers were on paper.

But this halfhearted respect wasn't _enough_. Tom needed, not to make himself accepted, but desirable and even _necessary _within Slytherin House as he had done in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Sitting around being polite and helpful just wasn't going to cut it.

The solution? Actively insert himself into the inner workings of Slytherin House without actually making it look like it was his doing.

The annoying thing about Slytherin House was that it held both ends of the extremes in the Wizarding World. On one hand, Slytherin House contained the majority of Magical Great Britain's power and wealth. On the other, it was the epitome of all things bad about the Wizarding world. Now, Muggles were narrow-minded and prejudiced, too, but seeing as Tom was a Caucasian male living in the mid-1900s, he had less to worry about from the Muggle world than the Magical world, where he was, as far as everyone actually important was concerned, an outsider.

Most of the conservative old guard refrained from insulting him because of his intelligence and power, but there was only so much he could achieve with pure talent alone. Connections and family name were a great deal, and that was a major problem because Tom wasn't inbred for twenty generations back.

_**Just nineteen. **_

_Oh, shut up. As long as it doesn't show up in my phenotype, we're fine._

_**Wait until we meet your uncle. It'll be glorious. Like Planet of the Apes.**_

_I think that's insulting to apes. They don't ALL come out deformed._

_**At least you're not Muggle-born, right?**_

_Are Muggles really _that _inferior?_

_**Five hundred years ago when Europe was still literally living in its own feces and chucking bodily waste out onto the streets? Sure! Now, when machine guns can fire killing curses at hundreds of rounds per minute?**_

_Shield Charms are pretty strong though, aren't they?_

_**Depends on how long it takes you to put one up. Are you faster than a bullet?**_

_Maybe with magic, we can figure out a way._

_**True. But anyway, if you're busy maintaining a shield, you can't fight back. **_

_So…lesson is, don't underestimate the Muggles?_

_**You're half-Muggle, and don't you forget it. Half-blood and proud, my friend. You've got the best of both worlds. Dumbledore is half-blood, and I'm pretty damn sure that Merlin, Morgana, Grindelwald, and any other wizard or witch that mattered was half-blood, too. It's in the rules. First step of being ridiculously overpowered is being born to either a Muggle father and a pureblood mother, or a pureblood father and a Muggle-born mother.**_

_Why not a pureblood father and a Muggle mother, or a Muggle-born father and a pureblood mother?_

**_...Because those are the rules._**

_What? That's stupid! Anyway, why would a kid with a Muggle-born parent be considered "half" blood if both of their parents were magical?_

**_...Because wizards are stupid._**


End file.
